


Time Trials

by ArmIa



Category: Sonic - Fandom, Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bonding, Character Study, Comedy, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drama, Gen, Healthy Relationships, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Magical Realism, Multiple Crossovers, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Novel, Platonic Relationships, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Slow Burn, Snark, Supernatural Elements, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Time Travel, War, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-07-17 08:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16091747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmIa/pseuds/ArmIa
Summary: Old faces become new friends. The same heroes stand against a new threat. The universe is in danger, and many worlds hang in the balance. A crisis crossover some ten years in the making, featuring just about every Sonic character you can think of- plus a few you've probably forgotten about- written by a fan, for the fans. Some characters, universes and plot points not tagged due to spoilers, but more will be added as chapters are released.





	1. Blue Sphere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a rare moment of peace in a world governed by chaos, Sonic the Hedgehog drops in on an old friend- and something else drops too.

A tiny blue speck, drifting in a sea of black.

A blue sphere, set against an abyss dotted with tiny pinpricks of light.

Seventy-one percent of the planet is covered in water. Ragged patches of terra firma are haphazardly strewn about its surface, streaked with brushstrokes of swirling cloud.

An idyllic paradise of lush fields and shimmering blue lakes walled off by jagged cliffs that give way to majestic, tumbling waterfalls.

Tall palm trees with drooping leaves and bright, cheerful flowers sprout from checkered brown soil that forms an irregular panorama of sweeping rock faces, rolling hills, and vertical loops that one would be forgiven for thinking were put there by some crazed architect.

For all its quirks, there’s a kind of beauty to the landscape. Natural and unspoiled, the strange structures seem at first glance to have been carved out by some civilisation but on closer inspection reveal themselves to be natural formations, as chaotic as life itself. The place is a living, breathing metaphor for the unpredictability of nature.

The quiet is shattered by a thunderclap, but the sky is cloudless. The ground begins to rumble.

Birds shift in the trees, but do not alight; the small animals who dwell closer to the ground glance up with interest.

Something is coming.

It starts as a dot on the distant horizon, reaching them in seconds, moving so fast they only catch the briefest impression of it; a streak of brilliant blue that kicks up plumes of dust as it rockets through the corridors of the landscape, the afterimages of its passage lighting up the inside of the loop. Clouds of disturbed earth billow out of the sides seconds after its meteoric passing, but to something moving that fast, a second is an eternity. It’s already miles away by the time the dust has settled.

Eventually, the figure at the center of the blur skids to a halt at the peak of a cliff, a pair of lightweight red sneakers gouging trenches into the dirt that stop just short of the edge. Emerald-green eyes scan his surroundings as if expecting applause, his mouth quirked into a cocky grin as if waiting to share an exceptionally funny joke with some unseen audience.

His blue quills and short tail end in sharp points that seem to quiver with latent energy, exuding an air of speed even when he’s standing still. Everything about him seems designed to be aerodynamic, though such concepts are seldom found in nature. Given the peculiarities of the landscape, however, it makes just as much sense that a blue hedgehog who can run as fast as a bullet train should inhabit it.

His name is Sonic.

The residents of this Zone called it Green Hill, though for as long as he could remember, Sonic had called it home. He knew the placement of every rock, every tree, and every flower as well as he knew the back of his own white-gloved hand. He knew which outcrops to avoid stepping on lest the unstable ground collapse under his weight, and he knew the precise location of every cluster of spinning, floating gold rings that manifested seemingly at random. Whatever primordial force shaped this world, it must have had an appreciation for rings; the rolling hills that gave the Zone its namesake were interspersed with rock formations that curved into vertical loops.

Off in the distance, a cluster of man-made structures jutted over the horizon like the teeth of a jawbone in need of some serious dental work. A coastal settlement too small to be called a city, situated unobtrusively in the middle of the landscape and made up of buildings not much taller than the palm trees scattered about its verges. Since it had no church, by technical definition it should’ve been considered a hamlet; however, it was called Emerald Town by its inhabitants, and by the tourists who flocked to it during the holiday season.

Though its status as the hometown of the planet’s greatest hero made it a point of interest for many, some vacationers simply sought it out for the solitude and natural beauty of the beach fringing its southern coast. Unspoilt and secluded, the soft white sand and clear, sparkling blue water made the name Emerald Beach seem something of a non-sequitur considering there was no greenery to speak of beyond the crowns of the palm trees, but its picturesque setting was as attractive to sightseers as it was to sunbathers, for on a clear day it offered a spectacular view of another of this beautiful, bizarre world’s most notable features.

Some four-thousand years ago, Angel Island was simply another part of the landscape, situated within a Zone that had simply come to be known as the Mystic Ruins after its true name had been lost to history. Its topography was as diverse as the environments of Sonic’s native South Island and neighboring West Side Island, ranging from ice-capped mountain ranges to lush forests and vast deserts, the still-standing ruins of what were once majestic, thriving cities the only surviving testament to the long-lost civilisation that had once inhabited it.

However, the thing that set Angel Island apart from its peers was the fact that it was floating hundreds of feet above them, suspended in the air by the pull of a mystical gemstone known as the Master Emerald.

From his perch atop the mountain, Sonic watched Angel Island drift ponderously above the skyline. At this range, it appeared small enough that he could hold it in the palm of his hand, the jagged slope of its underside and the uneven plane of its landscape resembling a crude approximation of the Master Emerald’s diamond cut.

With one eye closed, he amused himself by pinching the island’s distant outline between forefinger and thumb for a moment, then pretending to balance it on top of his index finger before its lazy flight path carried it to the corner of his peripheral vision.

From where Sonic was stood, Emerald Town was a little more than three miles away. He stepped off the edge of the cliff as casually as one might walk into their own kitchen, tucking in his knees and elbows and letting the slope of the mountain guide his descent, the curve of his spines cushioning him, forming a naturally spherical shape that gained momentum as it dropped until the ground rose up to meet him in a curve, launching him into the distance at almost the same speed with which he’d approached.

Now resembling nothing so much as a whirling blue cannonball, Sonic soared through the air in a wide arc, landing expertly on his feet without slowing- indeed, he continued to pick up speed within seconds of landing- and blasted off into the distance.

He’d reached Emerald Town in seconds.

“Sonic!”

He hadn’t been there a couple of moments prior, so it took the speaker a moment to register his presence. The structure he’d stopped at appeared to be an aircraft hangar from the outside, and indeed, it partly was, but the simple corrugated iron construction belied the scientific marvels that lay within. Through the open door, a massive generator and an equally massive mainframe could be seen flanking a powerful supercomputer, a luminous screen presiding over a panel of instruments whose purpose would be as alien as the readouts on the screen to the untrained eye. A workbench sat off to one side, scattered with tools and half-finished technological oddments, and a table in the center of the room was blanketed with spreadsheets, charts and blueprints.

The occupant’s appearance would be no less incongruous than Sonic’s would be to one unfamiliar with this world. A cheerful young fox with bright, inquisitive blue eyes that seemed always to be scanning whoever or whatever he was looking at, as if hoping to glean yet more knowledge from his surroundings. His name was Miles Prower, but everyone called him Tails, since his most immediately notably feature was that he had two of them- an unusual trait, even in a world where a bright blue hedgehog would only merit a second glance due to his celebrity status.

To Sonic, Tails was the kid brother he’d never had, his oldest and closest friend. Their gloved knuckles touched in a fist bump, a casual gesture that was as warm as a hug and as meaningful as a handshake.

“Hey, dude. What’s happening?”

Tails hesitated for a fractional moment as though mentally dissecting the question in search of a hidden meaning. “Do you mean generally, or…?”

“Sure. Generally. Let’s go with that.”

Tails blew out his cheeks. “To be honest, a whole lot of nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Not really. I’ve just been working on stuff.”

“Figures.”

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Bad news?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“You just seem a little disappointed.”

Sonic made a dismissive gesture, inwardly unsure what was more surprising; that the kid could be so perceptive, or that he still had the capacity to surprise his best friend after all the years they’d known each other. “Nah, I’m fine. Just wanted to see how my little buddy was doing, that’s all.”

Tails canted his head slightly to one side. “It’s okay. I get it. I know you get bored when the world doesn’t need saving. I mean, it’s not like you've got a day job, or-”

“Hey, I have hobbies,” Sonic shot back, mock-defensively. “Matter of fact, I just went for a real nice run through Green Hill.”

“And how long did that take you? Ten seconds?”

“Something like that. I must be getting out of shape.”

“And now you’re here,” Tails observed, returning his attention to whatever he’d been tinkering with on his workbench before Sonic had shown up. Sonic had no idea what the thing was, and he knew better than to ask. At the tender age of eight- half Sonic’s own age- Tails was a veritable genius. He was a technological prodigy, fluent in binary and hexadecimal, and despite receiving no formal education that Sonic knew of he’d educated himself to a level that must have been equivalent to about eight or nine university degrees. His brain seemed to run as fast as a computer but with a limitless memory, capable of processing multiple complex streams of data and analyzing them on the fly- literally, in fact, for that was another of his many talents- and although he’d been a timid bookworm when Sonic had first encountered him, he’d since proven himself as an ace pilot who had mastered aerial, marine, and even interstellar travel in various craft of his own design. Not content with accumulating knowledge for its own sake, he’d put several of his inventions towards saving the world, both with and without Sonic’s assistance. He could have made an entirely legitimate and guilt-free fortune off of the patents for his translation and satellite imaging software alone, but he’d dedicated his young life to entirely philanthropic pursuits without asking for so much as a word of thanks.  

However, for all his virtues, even Sonic knew Tails wasn’t perfect. He had an unfortunate tendency to ramble without much regard as to whether the person he was addressing could keep with his technobabble, and although Sonic would never stoop so low as to tease him about it, he had no idea how to talk to girls. Rather than speaking down to his intellectual inferiors, as one might expect, Tails seemed not to realize that everyone was as smart as him. The kid’s heart was as good as the head on his shoulders, but you could have too much of a good thing, and intelligence was no exception. Whoever had coined the phrase “too clever by half” must have had him in mind, he thought, permitting himself a small smile at his own private joke while the kid’s gaze was focused on his workbench.

“Yeah, so...like I said, I wanted to check up on my little buddy, make sure you were staying out of trouble.”

“More like hoping I was _in_ trouble so you could save me,” Tails replied, flashing Sonic a cheeky, sidelong smile.

“Come off it,” Sonic snorted. “I haven’t needed to save you since...I don’t even know. The first Death Egg? If anything, you're the one who's always saving _me_.”

“So you just happened to stop by en route to something else?”

“What, am I not allowed to make social calls now?”

“I just feel like you were hoping for, like- _oh, Sonic, thank goodness you’re here, Eggman’s built another doomsday device and we desperately need you to go smash it into pieces because you_ are _this planet’s designated savior, after all-_ ”

“It’s nice to feel wanted.”

“...He says, when he's obviously just here because he's bored.”

Sonic frowned. “Hey, now. Who’s to say I didn't just drop by because I wanted to see you?”

“Vector,” Tails answered, without missing a beat. “He called earlier and said you'd stopped by the office three times today already.”

Sonic rolled his eyes. “Oh, the crocodile’s got a big mouth. Shocker.”

Tails set down the gizmo he’d been tinkering with,  turning his attention to Sonic once more. “Hey, you know you can just admit you're bored, right? Honestly, it’s okay. I'm not gonna be offended. It’s good to see you anyway.”

“I know, I know.” He heaved the words out in a sigh. He knew Tails didn’t mean those words as a guilt-trip, and somehow that had in the inverse effect of making him feel even guiltier. “To be honest, I kinda feel like a jerk for even wishing something was happening, you know? It's not often we get any peace and quiet, and I’m just- I’m so freaking bored, is all. Eggman’s usually cooked up a new doomsday device or found some new pet monster that’ll inevitably betray him before we’ve even had a chance to clean up the last mess he made.”

“It _has_ been super quiet lately,” Tails conceded, with an almost sympathetic smile.

“You haven’t heard anything, have you?”

Sonic’s lips formed a grimace the not a second after his own voice had reached his ears. He hadn’t meant to sound quite so hopeful, but Tails- sweet, good-hearted Tails, always wanting to make his big brother happy- rubbed thoughtfully at his chin, then smiled with the air of a parent about to unveil a surprise trip to an ice cream parlor in an attempt to cheer up a destitute child. “Well, I’ve been monitoring G.U.N. frequencies-”

“Naughty naughty,” Sonic chided, wagging a finger at him in mock admonishment.

“With their permission!” Tails clarified sharply, sounding more embarrassed than defensive. “I always listen in on the BattleNet just to keep up-to-date on what’s happening, but I can’t get access to most of the covert stuff, so-”

Sonic’s grin widened. “Can’t? I didn’t think that word was in your vocabulary, bud.”

Tails mouth twisted into a curious, lopsided frown, as though he wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or annoyed. “OK, to clarify, I _could_ if I wanted to, but it’s not worth having a bunch of special ops guys kicking down my door at 3am.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to get woken up by Shadow and his team either. Maybe Rouge, but-” At that, Tails gave him a disapproving look, and he held up his palms in a placatory gesture. ”Kidding! I’m kidding! Jeez. For real though, how’s Shadow doing?”

“Apparently he’s on maneuvers with the rest of Team Dark. Standard military training-type stuff.”

“Figures,” Sonic huffed, torn between amusement and derision. “That guy literally does not know how to relax and/or have fun.”

“I think his definition of fun is probably just a little different to yours.”

“Speaking of which, you heard from Amy lately?”

Tails grinned slyly. “Is this you admitting you miss her?”

“Almost,” Sonic replied, choosing to double down rather than go on the defensive. Tails wasn’t quite as prone to verbally sparring with him as some of the other company he kept, but the kid was as sharp as a tack, and when Sonic’s teasing did get too much he could give as good as he got. “At least I’d have a reason to run when she’s chasing me.”

“She’s probably hanging out with Cream,” Tails theorized, apparently figuring that there was no sense pushing it.

“That’d be why I haven’t seen her. Don’t get me wrong, Cream’s a sweet kid, but every time I go see her Vanilla keeps telling me I’m too skinny and I need to eat more.”

Tails smiled knowingly. One of his old science projects was currently living (for want of a better word) with Cream and her mother, so he tended to see a lot more of them than Sonic did. “You too, huh?”

“I mean, her cookies are super good. I can eat maybe four or five no problem, but she just keeps putting them in front of me and I just can’t say no.”

“You’re gonna get too fat to run if she keeps stuffing you full of baked goods,” Tails warned him with a wry grin.

“Yeah, I’ll probably explode.”

Tails giggled. “Gross.” He paused for a moment, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. “Hey, you know who I haven’t seen in a while? Big.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s in Mystic Ruins. Passed him on the way here.”

“Really? How’s he doing?”

“He’s fine. Fishing. Same spot I saw him in yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. And the day before that, and...” His voice trailed off into nothing, indicating endless repetition.

Tails stared. “Seriously?”

“Yep. Every time I pass through he’s always in the same place, just doing his thing. I dunno how he doesn’t go nuts from boredom.”

Tails shrugged. “Well, he’s happy with his lot in life.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, personally, I can’t think of anything less fun than sitting by a river holding a stick with a piece of string attached to it for hours on end, but if he’s happy then more power to him.”

“How about Knuckles?”

Now it was Sonic’s turn to shrug. “Still up on Angel Island, I’m guessing. You haven’t heard from him?”

“Haven’t you?”

Sonic’s shoulders quirked in a little half-shrugging gesture. “He’s not exactly the type of guy to text or call, is he?” Sonic pointed out, scratching idly at his left ear. “Case in point. And you know how he is about people setting foot on his island without permission. He’d probably ask me to wipe my feet first.”

“Well, so long as Angel Island’s still-”

The keening wail of an alarm interrupted Tails’ sentence. The young fox turned to Sonic, eyes wide and jaw hanging open with horrified astonishment; Sonic was about to ask what was happening when he realized that Tails wasn’t looking at him, but rather at a point past his left ear.

Sonic turned on his heel, just in time to see the distant outline of Angel Island dropping from the sky like-

...well, like hundreds of thousands of tons of landmass that was, until a few moments prior, suspended hundreds of feet in the air by the power of a mystical gemstone.

Even from a distance, the sound of the impact was tremendous. A few thousand cubic miles of water was enough to cushion the impact somewhat, but the force of the island’s conical base penetrating the surface of the sea was still enough to throw up sixty-foot tidal waves that were visible even from the shore. Had it been a few kilometers closer to them, the results would have been disastrous. The waves would die down before they reached the coast, but Sonic knew all too well the devastation a wave of that size could cause.

“Wow,” he deadpanned, partly to cover his own relief that it hadn’t been closer to the shoreline. “You didn’t even finish the sentence and that was still enough to jinx it.”

Tails didn’t even bother dignifying the witticism with a response, turning his attention to the instrument panels. “Sonic, look at this! I’m picking up some seriously weird readings right now!”

Sonic squinted at the incomprehensible readouts, more to show willing than anything. “From the Master Emerald?”

Tails gave a short, sharp shake of his head, like a small insect had just flown into his ear. “No, no, it’s not just Chaos Energy. I’m also reading seismic disturbances that go way beyond what should’ve been expected from Angel Island impacting the ocean that far from the coast!” His features contorted in frustration borne of an inability to understand what he was looking at; it was a sensation he was unused to, and he didn’t care for it. “This doesn’t make any sense. It could be that the energy itself is on a wavelength that’s interfering with my equipment, but either way something is seriously wrong. I need to run some tests. You should-”

“ _Way ahead of you, buddy._ ”

Tails glanced up, realizing that he was talking to empty air in the same instant that he noticed the prototype, wrist-mounted communicator he’d been working on had disappeared from his workbench. Sonic’s voice, hollow and tinny, was addressing him over the receiver of the one in his hand.

“Show-off,” Tails muttered, and smiled, safe in the knowledge that Sonic couldn’t see or hear him.


	2. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world ravaged by war, an inexperienced special forces trooper is dispatched deep behind enemy lines to rendezvous with a mysterious informant who carries what may be the key to saving a planet that is barely clinging to life.

Royce paced anxiously, checking his watch. 20:57. Three minutes to nine in civvy speak. His contact still had another three minutes to make the rendezvous, he kept reminding himself. The operation wasn't blown yet, and as South Island drifted along the ocean the Empire's surveillance would need time to adjust, giving him plenty of time to complete his objective and return to base.

Hopefully.

He looked out across the landscape of the Green Hill Zone from his purchase atop a crumbling rock face, reflecting not for the first time on the irony of the name. Hill was a pleasantly evocative word, conjuring images of pleasant, sloping pastures. It was far too pleasant a word for any of the jagged, roughshod inclines that had been carved from the topography by months of sustained artillery fire. The checkered soil was pockmarked with shell craters, crisscrossed with hastily-dug trenches that were half-flooded with muddy water and choked with tangles of barbed wire. The skeletal, grey-white husks of long-dead trees jutted skywards like broken bones, their branches stripped bare of leaves.

The _Green_ of the Zone's namesake was nonexistent by this point.

He allowed himself another glance at his watch. 21:00 hours. Nine PM. Night time, although it was difficult to tell with so much filth in the atmosphere. The skies were blackened by cloud whether it was day or night, the pollutants in them brewing the atmospheric vapor into noxious acid rain which ate away at the landscape, leaching aluminum from the soil and dumping it into rivers which already flowed thick with slurry into reservoirs of industrial waste.

Having said that, It wasn't like his home had fared any better.

The Sugar Splash Zone had been one of the first of many to fall in the opening stages of the war. His family had owned and operated the sugar refinery of the Zone's namesake; as its name implied, it was also built around a gigantic network of underground reservoirs and aqueducts, which gave it immense strategic value not just for maritime shipping and trade routes but also for logistical support in military operations. Royce's family had been well-to-do before the war had begun; their business may not have seen the kind of profits that Casino Park and Studiopolis had been known to rake in after a particularly successful season, but there had always been food on the table. Casino Park's profit margins were as variable as a gambler's streak of luck and Studiopolis' were inextricably linked to ratings, but sugar had always been in demand, even during the war.

Once the Empire had captured it, the Sugar Splash Zone had gone from being a crucial linchpin of the military-industrial network to a choke point, cutting off supplies to the surrounding Zones rather than providing them.

Without food to eat, ammo for their weapons and fuel for their vehicles, the defending forces had dissolved like a cube of sugar in a cup of hot tea. The fiercest battles had been in the opening stages of the war, but once it had become apparent that defeat was an inevitability, those that remained fighting had been downgraded from an army to an insurgency. By this point, survival was a victory in and of itself.

That was what had led Royce to where he was now. The will to survive. With no home and no family left to speak of, he'd had nowhere left to go except to the Resistance. He'd never even fired his weapon outside of the practice range, but he'd been recommended for special operations not long after basic training. Basic had lived up to its name, a rushed and ad-hoc program that had been created for the purpose of getting more boots on the ground rather than making sure the people filling those boots were adequately prepared for the battlefield. The Resistance needed all the help it could get, but special ops needed people like Royce. He was nimble, quick on his feet and quicker still while gliding. It wasn't quite flight, but he could climb, see in the dark, and had highly acute senses.

Admittedly, his sense of smell wasn't much use with all the filth and pollution in the atmosphere, but his natural night vision and sensitive ears were the main reason he'd managed to survive as long as he had.

It was also the main reason why he was so surprised to suddenly feel a gun pressing into the back of his neck.

"Don't move." The words were a low murmur from somewhere behind him. "You move, you die. Understand?"

The gun felt cold and hard and steady as a rock. Royce fought the urge to swallow, uncomfortably aware that he was trembling but fearing that any sudden movements, however slight, would be interpreted as hostility.

"Whoa, hey, just- just take it easy-"

"You're not in a position to be giving orders," the voice snapped, cutting him off. "Get on your knees. Hands high."

Royce did as he was bade, his movements as slow and deliberate as he could possibly make them. It stood to reason that the disembodied voice was probably that of the contact he was supposed to meet, but that didn't make him feel any better about the gun at the back of his head.

"Are you Terios?" he ventured. The unseen figure was silent for a moment. When the reply came, it wasn't an answer.

"Your sidearm. Throw it away. Now."

Royce hesitated, his gaze flickering to the weapon holstered at his belt.

"I said-"

"Wait, wait, I'm sorry- what do you want me to do? Do- do you want me to throw my gun away or keep my hands up?"

There was a sigh from somewhere near his left ear.

"Keep your hands up," the voice said, and he felt his pistol being tugged out of its holster. He couldn't feel the gun against his head any more, but he knew it still had to be there, which meant there were now two guns being pointed at him. This did not make him feel any better.

"Who sent you?" the voice asked sharply.

Royce's mouth felt suddenly dry, but sweat was slicking his fur to his scalp. A single rivulet of perspiration trickled down the black stripe of fur bisecting his forehead, and he felt it draw to a halt between his eyes.

"Carlos," he blurted, his vocal chords finally cooperating. "Carlos sent me. I'm with the Emerald Network."

"You're here for the Chaos Emerald." More a statement than a question.

"Yeah," Royce answered after a moment. "Yeah, that's right. You're Terios, right? Are you- I mean, do you have it?"

"Of course I have it."

As the contact circled him, Royce got a clear look at them for the first time. It was a black hedgehog, the fur of his arms and legs highlighted with distinctive red stripes that ended in points as sharp as his quills. His eyes also bore similar markings around the edges, the jet-black irises surrounded by deep red scleroses. Unlike the standard-issue, olive drab combat boots and gloves that Royce wore, he sported once-white gloves which bore blackened streaks in the places where they weren't simply grayed with age and wear, the red and white of his chunky shoes showing silvery-grey metal where the paintwork had been scuffed or worn away. A tufty mane of white fur sprouted from his chest, his mouth a thin line like a scar across the olive skin of his muzzle.

"Wait a second- you- you're him, aren't you?" Royce asked, half-certain he already knew the answer.

"Yes," Shadow the Hedgehog replied. "I am."

Royce scrambled to his feet, extending a gloved hand for the hedgehog to shake.

"It's an honor to meet you, sir. Royce Sugarman, Private First Class."

He meant it, too. He was addressing a hero- a war hero, no less- and there weren't too many of those left.

Shadow didn't so much as glance at the proffered hand, deftly flipping the pistol he'd taken from Royce's holster and thrusting it back at him, butt-first. "Were you followed?"

Royce blinked. "What?"

"Were you followed?" Shadow repeated, punctuating each syllable with a thrust of the pistol. "Does anyone else outside the Emerald Network know that you're here, or what the purpose of your mission is?"

Royce accepted the gun, and returned it to its holster. "No, I don't think so."

Shadow's lip curled. "You don't think so?"

"No, I- I mean-"

"That's not good enough. Do you realize what's at stake, here?"

"I wasn't followed," Royce affirmed.

"And you're sure of that? I managed to get the drop on you easily enough."

Royce's expression formed a scowl that mirrored Shadow's, his fraying nerves giving way to frustration. He dimly recalled hearing somewhere that you should never meet your heroes, and the meaning of the adage was becoming more apparent to him with every passing second. Bet Sonic the Hedgehog was never this much of a jerk.

"With all due respect, sir, we don't have time for this. There's a dampening field keeping the enemy's surveillance blind, but I need to get the Emerald back to the Hidden Palace Zone before-"

A single movement of Shadow's hand was all it took to mute Royce's speech. The hedgehog formed his fingers into a fist; when he unfurled them, a Chaos Emerald was sitting in his palm of his hand. Rather than glinting as it caught the light, for there was barely any light for it to catch, the gemstone gave off a warm green glow that seemed to emanate from within as the hedgehog hefted it.

"Do you know what I had to go through to get this?"

"No."

"You're lucky."

Shadow extended the Chaos Emerald like a peace offering.

"Get this to the Hidden Palace Zone," the hedgehog instructed him. "We don't-"

"Wait a second, wait," Royce said sharply. Shadow's expression flickered with irritation at the interruption, but Royce barely noticed. "Listen. Do you hear that?"

It had started out as a low rumble, so faint that he'd thought perhaps it could be the opening stages of what would grow to be a boom of thunder, but as the noise grew louder it rose to a shrill whine, heralding the approach of a boxy outline that was flying towards the cliff as purposefully as a cruise missile.

Royce thought it might actually be a missile for a moment, but as it approached he realized, with dawning horror, that it had arms and legs.

He felt almost certain the Earth was shaking beneath them as it rocketed over their heads, but when it landed there was no almost about it. An avalanche of rubble cascaded down the cliff behind them as the thunderous impact shook loose an already-weakened overhang, and the Badnik turned to face them.

No, that wasn't right. It had landed facing away from them, but it didn't turn around; it simply swiveled at the midsection, a pair of glowing red eyes settling on them like laser sights.

"Damn!" Shadow hissed. He swung his weapon up, squeezing the trigger three times in quick succession, but the motion was automatic, a pointless gesture. The rounds flattened as they impacted the robot's stocky, vaguely humanoid chassis, dropping like dead flies without leaving so much as a scratch. The shade covering its head platform swiveled, scanning them both in succession; then the clawed digits of its right hand retracted into its wrists, and in the space of time it took Royce to blink, its fingers had been replaced with the barrels of a rotary machine gun. The weapon gave off a high-pitched whirring sound as it began to spin up, the circular formation of the barrels becoming a blur.

 _We're dead_ , Royce thought dimly. That Gatling gun could spit out over three thousand high-velocity rounds a minute. They wouldn't make it more than five feet if they tried to run. Well, maybe Shadow would, but-

Shadow seized Royce's wrist, hefting the Chaos Emerald toward the Badnik as though he were warding off a monster with a magic charm. The robot appeared to hesitate- only for a moment, but that was all Shadow needed.

" _Chaos_ -"

The second half of the utterance was lost as the Gatling cannons opened up, but Royce saw Shadow mouthing the word _Control_ a split-second before the world went white. The sound of the gunfire was horrendous, a deafening, unbroken roar punctuated by a pounding report as each individual barrel spat fire, but though Royce could still he hear it he was surprised to find himself staring at the robot from the side as it unloaded its weapon into the empty air where he'd been standing seconds prior.

He hadn't moved his feet. One moment he was there, the next, he simply wasn't. It was more than a little disorienting, but Shadow didn't miss a beat. The Chaos Emerald glowed in his palm as it had before, the light it cast across his face illuminating a grimace as he raised his other hand, bringing it down in an arcing motion.

"Chaos Spear!"

There was a brilliant flash, though not as intense as the one that had come before it, and a bolt of energy sprung from Shadow's fingers. It hurtled toward the Badnik like a javelin, bursting like a firework as it struck its target and filling Royce's nostrils with the pungent scent of ozone. The robot's armor plating smoldered, curls of smoke rising from its chassis as it twitched erratically. The glowing red bulbs of its eyes flickered.

" **RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS.** "

The Badnik's synthesized voice was a lifeless baritone that made Royce's stomach tighten. It examined its hands, flexing its claw-like fingers experimentally, then straightened itself.

" **DAMAGE NOMINAL. ALL SYSTEMS OPERATING AT 98.2%. INITIATING RECOVERY MODE.** "

Shadow's eyes widened in disbelief, his scowl evaporating as his lips parted slightly to form a single word, so quiet that anyone without Royce's sensitive hearing wouldn't have caught it:

_No._

The nozzles on the soles of Shadow's distinctive sneakers glowed as they spewed jets of flame, propelling him forward in a flying leap. He tucked his knees into his chest as his feet left the ground, curling into a ball and smashing into the robot hard enough to knock it off-balance, following up with an scissor kick that struck his target with a resounding clang of metal clashing against metal before somersaulting backwards and landing in a defensive crouch. The entire sequence of movements was flawless, so fluid, so graceful that it seemed to have been practiced a thousand times.

Truth be told, Shadow probably had done it a thousand times, and with a reasonable degree of success, which was why he wasn't prepared for the Badnik to recover so quickly. It lashed out at him with a vicious backhand, catching him across the face and sending him sprawling backwards.

The spectacle had unfolded so quickly that Royce could scarcely process it, but the sight of Shadow being hurled into the dirt like a discarded toy shook him out of his reverie. He tugged his own sidearm from its holster, fumbled frantically with the safety, squared his shoulders, and squeezed the trigger. The robot didn't so much as acknowledge the gunfire, keeping its glowing red gaze fixed on Shadow as it stomped towards him. Its movements were slow and clunky, almost ludicrously so compared to how fast it had been moving while airborne.

Royce emptied half of the magazine, aiming for its eyes. The first two shots went high. The third glanced off its head canopy. The fourth struck the space between a horsehoe-shaped symbol one of its boxy shoulders. He might as well have been throwing rocks at it.

"Get up!" he yelled, rushing to Shadow's side and trying vainly to pull him to his feet. "Get up, get up! Come on, we need to get out of here!"

Shadow grimaced in a way that suggested he was in a great deal of pain and trying not to show it. "No, we don't."

Royce was about to ask what the hell that was supposed to mean when he felt Shadow seize his wrist, folding his fingers around the Chaos Emerald. The light enveloped him again, and he felt the ground beneath his feet drop away. For a moment he was floating, standing on nothing. Then, all at once, the laws of physics seemed to take notice and rushed to rectify the mistake. Pain lanced up Royce's side as he hit the ground, but rather than stopping he bounced, rolled, and landed again.

Then the process repeated itself.

His gloved hands clawed desperately for traction as he tumbled down the slope, jagged rocks catching his useless legs and flailing arms, his lightweight tactical rig offering even less protection than an armored vest would have against the repeated body blows. Each landing forced the air out of his lungs, robbing him even of his ability to cry out in pain, limiting him to sharp gasps and grunts as he tried to at least slow his descent, if not stop it completely.

The ground did the work for him, once it had grown bored of pummeling him. The terrain flattened, and for a few moments he simply lay still. Every bone in his body seemed to be screaming at him; the protests only intensified as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, but a single thought quieted them, dulling the pain just enough to allow him to stand.

_I've got to keep moving._

He blinked hard to try and dispel the spots dancing in front of his eyes. The light had annihilated his night vision as effectively as a flash-bang grenade, but he knew he was no longer in the Green Hill Zone without even having to see his surroundings. The air smelled different, faintly musty with a bitter note of charcoal. The wet mud underfoot was gone, replaced with a carpet of dry foliage that crunched and crackled at the slightest movement, the twigs and leaves as hospitable as broken glass. No other sounds broke the silence, save for his own ragged, shaky breathing.

"Shadow?"

He addressed the darkness, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. He wasn't trying to be quiet for fear of being heard; he just couldn't manage anything more.

"Shadow? Sir? I can't- where are you?"

He'd managed to raise his voice a fraction, but the darkness still didn't respond. Dimly, he realized he'd lost his weapon.

When his vision returned, the first thing he saw was a mushroom, although he didn't realize it at first due to the fact that its stipe was as thick as the trunk of an oak tree. It wasn't until his gaze traveled upward, and he found himself staring at the gill-ridged underside of cap as wide as a satellite dish, that he realized where he was.

 _Agaricus gigantus_ had once been widespread in this particular Zone, the sloping valleys and cavernous topography creating natural wind tunnels that allowed their spores to spread for miles. The civilization that had once inhabited the island had harvested it for medicinal purposes, using its mildly psychotropic spores to combat spiritual and social ills as well as physical ones. Some scholars even purported that the ancients had been the first to cultivate what would become rubber after discovering that secretions harvested from the caps of the sub-genus _Agaricus trampolinus_ retained their flexibility even after solidifying.

Not that any of that mattered now, of course. The echidnas had been long extinct before Royce was even born. _Agaricus gigantus_ had evolved to adapt to a climate governed by chaos, but now, after some four-thousand years, it had gone the same way as the civilization that had once shared this land with it.

The Mushroom Hill Zone's true name had been lost to history long before the war had begun, but now even the name it had been given in happier times seemed a misnomer, for this withered, grey-white specimen appeared to be the last one of its kind left in existence, a grim colossus standing like a grave marker for the very earth it had sprung from.

Using the gigantic stalk for support, Royce managed to pull himself to his feet. As he braced himself against it, he thought for a moment that he could the plant's membranes shifting slightly, swelling and deflating like a dying animal struggling to draw breath. Was he simply imagining it, a little concussed from the fall or disoriented by the long-distance teleport? Or was the behemoth actually still alive, drinking in the same toxic air he was, still desperately clinging to a miserable existence that seemed to be inching closer to an inevitable end with every breath?

Perhaps he was a little concussed, he thought bitterly, for he felt a sudden stab of empathy for the mushroom. Like him it was completely alone, fated to a slow death by poisoning from the very air that had once sustained it. Shadow was gone, he was unarmed, and the Chaos Emerald-

...had fallen just a few feet away from him?

He scrambled towards it on his hands and knees, scooping it up and cradling it in his cupped palms like it was a baby bird he'd just witnessed falling from its nest. His fur was caked with mud and dust, but the sheen of the Emerald was flawless, smooth and unblemished. A tingling sensation rather like pins and needles shot through his digits as his fingertips brushed against it.

He shook himself, recalling the instructions of his commanding officer in his head. _Focus. Stay on mission. This is bigger than you, rookie. Everyone on this planet- everyone who's still alive, they're depending on you to get the job done. Don't let them down._

That voice had chilled him to the core during his training, but now it had an oddly calming effect, like how a bucket of water in the face would feel refreshing only a stiflingly hot day. Shadow hadn't abandoned him at all. Royce didn't know whether or not he was still alive, and he wasn't confident enough to make a guess one way or the other, but the fact remained that he'd warped Royce to safety.

Hopefully, Royce would get a chance to thank him if this all worked out.

He dug around in his belt-pouches, sifting through loose ammo and battered magazines for the weapon he no longer possessed until he felt something hard and smooth and rounded. Miraculously, his compass had survived the tumble down the hillside. There was an ugly crack across the glass dome, but the needle beneath it swung obediently back and forth as he laid it flat in his palm, settling on what had to be north after a few indecisive twitches.

He cast his mind back to the ordnance survey maps of Angel Island that he'd spent so long studying prior to this mission. The Hidden Palace Zone was southeast of Mushroom Hill, which meant that he had to go- his gaze settled on the direction the compass was indicating- _that_ way.

He drew in a shaky breath, then exhaled sharply. Okay. He could do this. All he had to do was keep moving in a straight line. The terrain had leveled out; it would be a long march, but at least it wasn't uphill. Or downhill, come to that. Mushroom Hill bordered HydroCity to the west and the Lava Reef Zone to the east, but Lava Reef was a death trap, so if he had to change course he could just head west and use the underground reservoirs for cover. The Resistance had done in the past.

He'd be fine. He could do this. People were counting on him. The planet wasn't dead yet, and neither was he.


	3. & Knuckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock knock, it's Knuckles.

Knuckles the Echidna sat cross-legged on the mantle of verdigris tiles that made up the floor of the Hidden Palace Zone. His feet rested on his thighs, his knees against the ground while his gloved hands clasped together in his lap. His chest rose as he drew in a breath through his nose, then slowly flattened as he exhaled through his mouth.

The process repeated itself, his pulse steady and measured. Behind him, the Master Emerald rested atop its altar like a silent king observing their most faithful subject from the comfort of their throne, giving off a warm green glow that spilled only a few feet across the floor before the hungry darkness lapped it up. The chamber was silent save for the sound of his breathing, though even his heartbeats seemed a din in the yawning tract of the cavern. The tiles beneath him were cold to the touch, hard and unyielding.

He had plenty of favorite places on Angel Island, but he always felt centered here. The darkness, the silence and the solitude were perfect for when he simply wanted to be alone with his thoughts, although he was never truly alone so long as the Master Emerald was near.

Knuckles had been the Guardian of the Master Emerald for almost as long as he could remember. The knowledge of his duty was almost instinctive, nestled within his consciousness just as the instinct to head for the sea would manifest within the mind of a hatchling sea turtle mere moments after it had breached the confines of its eggshell.

Like a sea turtle, Knuckles had been born by himself. Unlike a sea turtle, he had no brothers or sisters. Many warm-blooded creatures gained new skills by learning, either from their parents or their peers, but his only teacher had been experience. As a child, he had learned to use caves and rock crevices to shelter from the harsher elements of Angel Island's unspoiled landscape, bedding down on soft vegetation under the stars. Later, he had even shared the burrows of other small animals who inhabited the island. They liked him, and he'd found them to be good company, communicating with them through pantomime for they did not speak.

For many years, neither had he.

He'd spent many hours- hours which had cumulatively added up to days, and then many months out of many years- simply watching the woodland creatures scamper about the home they shared with him. Parents tended to their young, constructing nests and foraging for food while their offspring played and frolicked. They weren't troubled by Knuckles' presence, and nor was he by theirs. Rather, it was the absence of others like him that caused him consternation. There were many species on the island, large families of squirrels, seals, rabbits, birds and bats- but no echidnas.

Knuckles had many friends, but no family. He'd scoured every inch of the island in search of another being like him, and found none. What he'd found instead was the Master Emerald.

He'd still been searching for his people then, charting a course through the island by following a haphazard trail of structures and machines that must surely have been built by his ancestors. The stone reservoirs of what he'd come to know as the HydroCity Zone bore surfaces that were smooth and flat, not naturally as a pebble found in a river might be but formed of bricks that had been carefully sculpted and placed to ensure a watertight seal, channeling the water rather than allowing it to shape its own course. He'd found a number of switches, and spent a considerable amount of time committing the function of each one to memory. Having already taught himself to swim in the shallow rivers and estuaries of Mushroom Hill, he'd trained himself to hold his breath so he could explore the underwater passages, and committed their layouts to memory too.

His expedition had continued, and everywhere he looked he found more evidence of his ancestors' presence. The mine shafts of the Lava Reef Zone, the pyramids of Sandopolis, the traps of Marble Garden Zone- many of which still worked, as he'd found out the hard way- all indicated that there were others like him. Who else could have carved tunnels out of solid rock but another creature possessed of the power to crush stone with their fists? Certainly not any of the little animals, for none of them possessed his strength, and what need had they for buildings when they were content making their homes in underground burrows and the trunks of trees? For there to be so many structures, so many platforms and passageways, surely it would have required the efforts of many individuals working together?

 _There must be more like me. There must be._  The thought had become a mantra in his head, one he had fallen back on to give him strength when the blistering heat of the Lava Reef Zone left him without the strength even to mop the sweat out of his eyes, or the biting winds and knee-deep snow of the IceCap Zone had almost convinced him to just give up, to head back to the Mushroom Hill Zone and its pleasantly warm days and relaxingly cool nights and soft soil and clear water.

He'd pushed on through the deserts and tundras, navigated the shafts of the Endless Mine Zone, the long since flattened wilderness surrounding the shores of the Azure Lake Zone and the quietly impressive beauty of the Desert Palace Zone, and found them all uninhabited.

The loneliness had begun to set in again, bringing with it a sense of defeat compounded by a dread that he couldn't put a name to. He was alone. Completely alone. His life would inevitably end as it had begun, and there would be nothing in-between but more loneliness.

The realization had driven him almost to despair, and though the animals sensed his misery, they could do nothing to help him. He was still a child then, and like a child he'd reacted to the very grown-up existentialism of his situation with anger. He'd lashed out at a nearby tree, pulverizing it, reducing the thick trunk to splinters in mere seconds. He could have felled it with a single blow, but he'd used far more force than was necessary.

He'd felt guilty once his rage had subsided. The sudden violence of his tantrum had frightened the animals, and the tree had been a truly magnificent specimen with a trunk as thick as the pillars in the temples of Sandopolis. It hadn't done anything to harm him. It had as much right to exist as he did.

Not wanting to waste it, he'd gathered up as much of it as he could, resolving to use it the larger pieces for firewood and leave the smaller ones for the birds to use for their nests. Using the tree's remains had seemed almost respectful, more appropriate than simply leaving it to rot.

Then, through the gap left where the tree had once stood, he'd seen something that had stopped him in his tracks.

The animals had seen it too, but none of them would dare approach it. Even the ones that resided in Pumpkin Hill, which he'd found eerie even before he understood the significance of the gravestones and jack o'lanterns littered about the place, gave it a wide berth. Perhaps, on some level, they could sense the otherworldliness of the thing even though they had no idea what it was. Perhaps it had been that same sense of otherworldliness that had drawn him to it, for like him, it seemed not to belong.

To his eye, the flawless diamond cut of the Master Emerald suggested it had been carved by hand. The angular symmetry of it was unlike anything found in nature, and yet he'd come to realize much later that it was in fact as primordial and timeless as life itself. It had existed far before his people's most distant ancestors had first heaved themselves out of the oceans, and there was little doubt in his mind that it would remain there long after he was gone.

He'd climbed the steps of the altar alone, the little animals who'd accompanied him on his journey watching from they took to be a safe (or perhaps respectful) distance. The Master Emerald sat silent, as impassive and immobile as the weathered stone it was situated in, and yet it seemed to be beckoning him.

The stones around it were weathered and cracked with age. Weeds sprouted from the crevices and patchy clumps of moss were plastered across it like continents displayed on a map, but the surface of the Emerald itself was spotless, as if it had been polished in preparation for his arrival by an expectant housekeeper. The columns around it protruded from the ground in jagged, irregular lengths like trees that had been left damaged by a severe storm, but the way they were arranged left little doubt that they had once acted as supports for the roof of a structure that had long since crumbled around the gemstone it had been built to accommodate.

If anything, the Master Emerald's shabby surroundings only served to make it look more regal by comparison. From the instant he'd touched it, he'd known that it was more than just a shiny rock. It was the culmination of his quest. He hadn't found his people, but instead had found his reason for being.

He'd slept not by the light of a fire that night but in the glow of the Master Emerald, bedding down on the mossy stone in what had been the best night's sleep of his life, the firewood entirely forgotten.

The Emerald had begun to speak to him not long after, whispering in his dreams.

Nestled within his consciousness, the strange markings he'd encountered on the walls of the structures he'd passed through on his travels had taken on a sudden significance. It wasn't that the inscriptions were meaningless before; he knew they must have meant something, for everything else that his ancestors had left behind served a purpose, even if that purpose wasn't immediately clear.

The Master Emerald hadn't just taught him how to read. It had taught him to  _understand_.

The scriptures spoke of a peaceful and wealthy society that had flourished for many years before it had been split asunder by the greed and foolishness of their leaders. They spoke of great accomplishments in science and industry, of machines that worked in harmony with nature, and he'd felt a great swell of sadness as he'd struggled to understand how they could have allowed such greatness to devolve into the savagery that had followed.

The scriptures recounted the tragedy of how a proud but peaceful clan had grown into a violent behemoth through swift and merciless conquest, killing those that resisted and plundering their riches. As their wealth swelled, so too had their arrogance and greed. Bloated with self-importance and an insatiable hunger for power, their conquests chafed against the borders of another powerful clan's territories, and the two sides had become locked in an agonizing stalemate that only ended when the rival clan had turned their technological achievements to the production of weapons and war machines.

They were no longer been one race striving to create a haven for all; they had divided themselves with tribal boundaries, with the names they had chosen for their clans, with the governance of the individuals they'd elected on the merit of strength alone.

It had seemed almost nonsensical to him at the time. How could one hope to achieve peace through violence and bloodshed? How could anyone willingly serve a conqueror, let alone subjugate innocents in their name?

As if sensing his disquiet, the Master Emerald had guided him once again to the scriptures. Their teachings had lent a voice to the Master Emerald, and now that same voice spoke for those who were no longer around to impart their wisdom.

Desperate for something to give his soldiers an edge over their more advanced adversaries, the echidna clan chieftain known as Pachacamac had turned his attention to what his people knew as the  _Power Stones_ , seven mystical relics of immense power housed in a shrine that connected them to what they called the  _Mighty Stone_.

Pachacamac's own ancestors had regarded the Power Stones as sacred objects, their origin shrouded in myth and mystery. Legend held that another ancient civilization had been propelled to greatness, just as the echidnas had, by harnessing their energy. It was said that in the past, misuse of the Stones by the wicked and iniquitous had sparked a conflict so intense that the gods themselves had been forced to intervene, creating the Mighty Stone and imbuing with the ability to nullify the energy of the Power Stones.

The Power Stones themselves were said to possess limitless potential. Just one was enough to grant the wishes of whoever held it, but to gather all seven in one place would supposedly cause the manifestation of what could only be described as a miracle.

Pachacamac needed a miracle. The rival clan had broken the deadlock with their war machines, and now his people faced extinction. His clan had long sought the secrets of the Power Stones, but in an act of desperation or arrogance- or perhaps both- he had led his forces in a raid on the temple and attempted to seize the Power Stones for himself.

In a bitter irony that was not lost on Knuckles even at such a young age, the chieftain's attempt to save his people from destruction had been the very catalyst for it. His assault on the sacred shrine had angered its guardian, described in the scriptures as a legendary dragon that had drawn upon the energies of the Power Stones and used them to lay waste to Pachacamac and his clan, decimating their entire civilization in an instant.

The only thing that had spared the rest of the planet was the Mighty Stone's ability to nullify the Power Stones, for the dragon would surely have used their power to destroy the world had his rampage been allowed to continue unchecked. The dragon was ultimately sealed away, but though his body lay dormant a great and terrible hatred still smoldered within his heart. One day, the scriptures warned, he would return to exact judgement upon the world for the sins of their forebearers.

Those of Pachacamac's kin that had survived had come to call the Power Stones by a different name in the aftermath of the dragon's vengeance, referring to them as  _Chaos Emeralds_  and dubbing the Mighty Stone the  _Master Emerald_  for its mastery over the seven stones. With the Chaos Emeralds' erstwhile guardian banished, they had taken it upon themselves to become the protectors of the Emeralds, for they predicted that others would seek out their power for selfish purposes.

They had no idea just how right they were. At the time, neither did Knuckles.

Pachacamac's people- his people- were skilled warriors, gifted with natural strength and born with sharp spikes on their hands that were both deadly weapons in hand-to-hand combat and useful tools for peaceful pursuits such as digging, capable of crushing stone as easily as they shoveled soft earth. They had called themselves the  _Knuckles Clan_ , and so, as their last surviving member, that was the name that Knuckles had chosen for himself.

To learn the truth of his people's decline had been sobering, but the revelation had been accompanied by what was almost a sense of enlightenment, reassuring in its own way.

His people were gone, but the Master Emerald remained. Fate had guided him to it for a purpose, and now that purpose was clear. For the first time in his life, his purpose was clear. He was the guardian now. He was Knuckles the Echidna, protector of the Master Emerald.

He opened his eyes a fraction. The balmy green glow reassured him that Master Emerald was still sat atop its altar, its hue still permeating the contours and cracks of the empty columns around it. The Hidden Palace had been constructed by his people long after the shrine where he'd first found the Emerald had been built, but although both of them had played host to both the Master Emerald and the Chaos Emeralds throughout the ages, the smaller gems were, as their very names suggested, unpredictable. Like magnets, they seemed to possess the power both to attract and repel one another, and if all seven were gathered in one place they never seemed to remain there any longer than was necessary, scattering themselves like leaves once their purpose had been fulfilled. Perhaps the gods willed it, as the scriptures claimed, or perhaps the Emeralds themselves possessed at least some degree of sentience. In any case, Knuckles had long since given up trying to keep them grounded. If they came to their natural resting place again of their own volition then that was fine by him, but he wouldn't go out of his way to track them down unless it was to keep them out of the hands of those who would misuse them- and thankfully, he was no longer alone in that.

He considered himself fortunate to count Sonic the Hedgehog as a friend and an ally now, but their first meeting hadn't exactly been under the most auspicious of circumstances. There'd been no handshake. No exchanging of words. Just an uppercut that would have crushed the hedgehog's chest cavity like a tin can if not for the power of the Chaos Emeralds.

Unstoppable force meets immovable object. Unstoppable force is too intoxicated by the power coursing through his body to even consider the possibility that maybe he can be stopped. Unstoppable force is sloppy, undisciplined, overconfident. Immovable object has been training his whole life to defend his home from invaders. Turns out unstoppable force isn't unstoppable after all.

At the time he'd believed it had been worth not killing Sonic just to see the stupid look on his face, the shock becoming confusion as his irises had flickered from red to green in the literal blink of an eye, the golden glow of his fur ebbing to a flat blue, quills sagging. The Emeralds had hit the ground a split-second after he'd tumbled into the dirt, and Knuckles had actually allowed himself a moment to laugh in the hedgehog's mud-streaked face after scooping them up. He'd still been grinning as he melted into the undergrowth, reporting back to his erstwhile ally with the self-satisfied air of a child anxious to show their parent something they'd discovered while playing in the back yard.

Knuckles had never set eyes on a human before, so the bizarre specimen he'd met just prior to Sonic's arrival was quite unlike any creature he'd ever seen on the island. It was rotund almost to the point of being spherical, its head simply starting at the shoulders without any neck partitioning the two. He supposed it must have been born that way, for he'd lived his entire life foraging for nuts and berries, kept lean and fit by the intensive regimen of walking, climbing and swimming that his patrols incorporated. He never would have guessed that one could grow to be so fat through the consumption of food, for food was simply fuel to him, and while he enjoyed the succulent grapes that grew in the Sky Sanctuary Zone, they were a sweet treat and not something to be consumed to excess. Eating too many would make him sick, and he had only made that mistake once.

Nature had elected not to give the creature any fur save for the two symmetrical, bushy tufts that sprouted from beneath its snout; the dome of its head was as smooth and hairless as the shell of an egg, and because it had been born with no natural coat it had chosen to garb itself in synthetic fabrics of red, yellow and black in order to protect its strange fat body from the elements. Most bizarrely of all, its eyes were obscured by little slivers of rounded quartz, connected by a metal band that arched over the creature's bulbous, ruddy snout.

Sweating and puffing and muttering to itself, the smooth skin of its scalp was shiny with beads of sweat. He'd almost wanted to laugh, observing the spectacle of the peculiar creature heaving its bulk through the undergrowth with visible discomfort. Were his mind not preoccupied with more serious matters, he probably would have.

Days prior to their encounter, a gigantic egg had fallen from the sky. Knuckles had been in the Hidden Palace Zone when it had happened, drawn to the Master Emerald by some strange sensation that he realized later must have been its own way of trying to warn him of impending danger. The egg had crash-landed in the Azure Lake Zone, many miles from the Hidden Palace, but the impact was so tremendous that the entire island had shook, throwing Knuckles to the floor of the chamber as it flooded with a light so intense it had forced his eyes shut. By the time he'd found his feet again, the light was gone, and the Chaos Emeralds with it.

He'd set out in search of the missing Emeralds, thinking at first that they may simply have relocated themselves again, fickle things that they were, but the egg's unnaturally rounded outline was so huge that it was unmissable even from such a great distance, protruding from the landscape like an unsightly metal tumor. He'd quickly discovered that the impact had knocked the floating island out of the sky, and the sheer weight of the giant egg had driven it into the ocean- though mercifully it had not sunk.

Not wanting to waste time with speculation, he'd set off for the Azure Lake Zone immediately. A closer inspection of the egg had revealed that its shell was made of metal, confirming in Knuckles' mind what he had feared all along. It must have been the egg that contained the legendary dragon, for only a creature of such great destructive potential could have been birthed from such a monstrous vessel. The missing Chaos Emeralds heralded the destruction of his home; the only question remained as to where they'd gone.

The human he'd met a few days later had provided the answer. It had been demonstrably shocked when he'd made his presence known, for he supposed his own appearance must have been as alien to it as it had been to him, but it had recovered quickly when he'd identified himself as the guardian of the Chaos Emeralds. The human had warned Knuckles about  _Sonic_ , an evil and avaricious hedgehog who had stolen the Emeralds and harnessed their power with the intention of making himself immortal, aided by a two-tailed fox cub, a child who presumably followed him out of blind obedience or fear. The human called himself a  _doctor_ , a word which Knuckles understood to be synonymous with  _healer_ , one who fixed things that were broken and made sick people well again, and although he'd proven to be a man of science rather than of medicine it stood to reason that he was here to help, for that was what doctors did. They helped people.

This doctor- he'd taken the name "Robotnik" for himself, for he was a maker of robots, of machines not so dissimilar from the ones that the ancients had left behind, though far more advanced- said he was here to help Knuckles. He'd come to the island to research the giant egg and the bloodthirsty hedgehog and his timid servant had pursued him, driving him deep into the forests that had been devastated by the impact of the giant egg. The prophecies had long foretold the consequences of Sonic's insane quest for power, but with Knuckles' knowledge of the island's inner workings and Robotnik's machines, the doctor hoped that perhaps together they could stop him. Together, they could not only save Knuckles' island from his wrath but perhaps spare those who dwelled on the planet below, too.

Knuckles had flinched when the doctor had extended his hand, still a little unsure of the strange fat creature. Robotnik had watched him expectantly for a few moments, then cleared his throat. He'd simply regarded the pudgy digits with confusion until the human instructed him to take the proffered paw in his own. He'd done as he was bade, a little reluctantly, and Robotnik had explained that the act was called a  _hand-shake_. It was a custom among his people, both a form of greeting and also symbolic of trust and respect, used to honor alliances and agreements.

Knuckles had thought it rather quaint, but hadn't quite been able to stop himself from smiling as the ramifications of the gesture became clear to him. Robotnik had grinned back at him, a broad and toothsome smile, and he'd taken the expression to mean that the human was as pleased by their partnership as he was.

In retrospect, he wasn't that far off the mark.

Robotnik had set to work constructing a gigantic cage around the dragon's egg, a vast nexus of pylons and platforms and moving machinery powered by the natural water pressure of the Azure Lake Zone. He'd instructed Knuckles to do everything in his power to keep Sonic and his underling at bay while the cage was finished. He'd actually warned him not to underestimate the hedgehog, speaking of his resilience and determination with what was almost a begrudging respect, but Knuckles wasn't bothered. This "Sonic" was simply a trespasser, the kind of wrongdoer that he had sworn an oath to defend the island from. He was happy to let the human scientist assist him in the defense of his home, for he was clearly incapable of defending himself from a being of such speed and ferocity, but even if Sonic was wily enough to evade the traps and safeguards left in place by the ancients the hedgehog wouldn't make it past him. He would not fail as his ancestors had. He would not fail as Pachacamac had.

The vow had been in earnest, which had made his eventual failure that much more painful. He'd allowed the righteousness of his anger to blind him to a truth that had been staring him in the face from the very beginning.

Robotnik had been lying to him. He was the one who'd stolen the Chaos Emeralds for his own purposes, and Sonic had been forced to use their power to try and stop him.

Perhaps the harshest irony of all was that the scriptures had been correct, in a way. The giant egg did herald the planet's destruction, but no dragon lay waiting to hatch inside it. It was simply another one of the machinist's creations. He called it the Death Egg, a colossal flying fortress that could harness the power of the Chaos Emeralds to wreak unthinkable devastation upon the world. The cage he'd constructed around it- he'd insisted on calling the locale the  _Launch Base Zone_  despite Knuckles' repeated reminders that its proper name was Azure Lake- was nothing so much as an enormous cradle, designed to ready it for flight rather than contain it.

He'd even gone so far as to steal the Master Emerald while Knuckles was preoccupied with keeping Sonic from infiltrating the Hidden Palace Zone. In his attempt to keep one perceived trespasser at bay, he'd let another slip past every defense and contingency plan he'd prepared, for the one thing he simply hadn't accounted for was betrayal.

The deception was so vile that it galled Knuckles to his very core. His own shortsightedness was almost sacrilege in its own way, for it had not just been that he'd merely failed in his duty as guardian; he'd unknowingly invited the enemy into his home, allowing him to carry out his plans with the aid of the island's natural resources. Sonic and Tails had been the ones to save the world and return the stolen Master Emerald, not him, and although balance had been restored he had been, for lack of a better maxim, left with egg on his face.

He had to admit he was grateful for Sonic's help, but his frustration at his own failure had given way to resentment. Sonic may have been the planet's  _de facto_  savior, but Knuckles' role as guardian was his birthright. It should have been him that protected the Chaos Emeralds. It should have been him that destroyed the Death Egg and retrieved the Master Emerald.

No, scratch that. He shouldn't have allowed the Master Emerald to be stolen in the first place, nor let Robotnik set foot on his island.

Thankfully, he'd outgrown his bitterness just as he had his naivety. He was still young then, but as he'd grown older he'd realized that the key to true strength was understanding one's weaknesses. That was the difference between him and Robotnik; a fool thought himself wise, but a wise man knew himself to be a fool.

He had been foolish to think he could rely on physical strength alone. It had taken much time and tribulation for him to accept, but the reality was that he simply couldn't safeguard both the Master Emerald and the Chaos Emeralds all by himself. Trying to safeguard the mighty controller was enough of a responsibility without having to worry about shepherding a septuplet of smaller gems who seemed to have minds of their own, and so he'd resolved to simply protect the Master Emerald. His duty was more important than his pride, and it also made sense from a purely strategic point of view; if the need arose, he could call on the Master Emerald's power to bring the Chaos Emeralds back in line. So long as the Master Emerald was in its rightful place, his beloved island would continue to float, and so long as he was here to defend it-

_Something's wrong._

His eyes snapped open. He was on his feet in an instant, his limbs disentangling like a slip knot, his large hands balling into fists that could shatter stone with less effort than a sledgehammer swung with twice the force.

Something was wrong, but as his eyes scanned the dimly-lit chamber, finding only the familiar outlines of his surroundings still lit by the light of the Master Emerald, he realized that he didn't know  _what_  was wrong, only that  _something was wrong._

He turned to the Master Emerald as if seeking guidance, or perhaps reassurance, for it had provided both in the past. It seemed to stare back at him almost expectantly.

"What is it?" he asked. Each syllable echoed in the vast expanse of the chamber. "What's wrong?"

As if in response, the Master Emerald exploded.


	4. Welcome to Station Square

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of calm heralds a perfect storm.

Cream the Rabbit’s orange and yellow shoes tapped out a childish cadence as she skipped down the sidewalk, hugging a brown paper bag to front of her dress while her best friend, Cheese the Chao, bobbed through the air alongside her. The end of a baguette and a fluffy sprig of green leaves jutted from the top of the bag, as if in parody of the stereotypical grocery shopping carried by the characters of countless TV shows and films.

Even if she was aware of it, the little rabbit was far too taken with her surroundings to recognize that she was the subject of more than one cliche. The wide-eyed girl from out in the sticks, wandering the streets of the big city. The precocious child, giddy with the responsibility of being allowed to fetch groceries without parental supervision. The kid hero and her faithful companion, living in a world where every day was the start of a new adventure.

At the tender age of six, Cream had already experienced more than her fair share of adventure. She’d saved her mother from the clutches of a mad scientist bent on world domination, helped her friends battle against a robot built by the same mad scientist that was also bent on world domination, faced off against a former friend who’d absorbed the power of the Chaos Emeralds and become bent on world domination, and even lived through a full-scale invasion of the planet by an army of bloodthirsty aliens bent on...

...well, you get the idea.

Cheese had been with her every step of the way, for want of a better phrase. From the blobby little creature’s appearance, one might be surprised that flight was his main form of transportation; his pale blue body was no bigger than Cream’s head, and he could sit comfortably in the palm of her hand, but the little pink wings on his back were so thin and delicate that they didn’t look strong enough to support anything more substantial than a particularly large butterfly.

It was entirely possible that the little creature’s pudgy form was kept aloft by some other force than simple muscle power, but Cream had honestly never really given it much thought. She was just happy that out of all the people in the whole wide world, Cheese had chosen her as a friend.

Cream loved to read, both for entertainment and to satisfy her own craving for knowledge. She wondered about a lot of things, like why the sky was blue and how clouds could stay up there, for she knew they were made of water vapor and she knew water was heavier than air. She’d also wondered a lot about Chao, even before she’d met Cheese, and so naturally she’d read a great deal about them.

She’d read in a science book that when you looked at something that you thought was cute, your brain made a chemical called dopamine that made you feel happy. Chao were small and vaguely humanoid, with soft, rounded bodies and heads that seemed almost disproportionately large by comparison. They had great big eyes, no visible nose or ears, stubby little limbs, feathery wings, and communicated with odd, high-pitched verbalizations. This meant that they fit a widely accepted standard of what most people considered cute, and so people became happy just by looking at them. They also came in a variety of different colors, and could be trained or even selectively bred to have certain characteristics. Compounded with the fact that they were playful, gentle, and trusting creatures by nature, this made them excellent pets and companions.

Chao were also a lot tougher than they looked; having been accompanied by Cheese on all her adventures, Cream could attest to that perhaps better than anyone. Some people believed that they were effectively immortal, but immortal only meant that they couldn’t be killed in the traditional sense. It didn’t mean they couldn’t be hurt. Therefore, it was entirely likely that they’d evolved to such a standard of widely accepted cuteness as a kind of defense mechanism. By making themselves appealing to people, people would want to protect them. Nobody knew exactly when Chao had been domesticated, for they seemed to be almost domestic by nature. It sounded like a paradox, but they instinctively sought out those who would give them love and shelter, and because they were so lovable they never seemed to have trouble finding homes.

Cream knew that Cheese must have sought her out for that reason. She loved the little creature as much as he loved her, and she couldn’t have asked for a better friend. She’d been much younger when Cheese had sought her out, shy and unsure of herself, but she’d known from the minute they’d first met that they would always be friends. She’d begged her mother to be allowed to bring him home, and although her repeated insistence that she’d care for him had been unnecessary, for mother had also quickly grown fond of him, she’d made good on her promise.

From the research she’d consumed so enthusiastically, Cream already knew everything she would need to take good care of Cheese. She knew from her visits to the Chao Gardens of the neighboring Zones that Chao could only exist in places with clean, pure water, and that you should never pick up or hold them by their wings. She knew every detail of their dietary needs, how much exercise they should have and just how much care and attention they needed.

Cheese had simply known that she needed a friend.

Over the years, they’d formed what a book she’d once read had called a symbiotic relationship. She understood this to mean two people who couldn’t exist without each other, who depended on each other and trusted each other completely. Cheese wasn’t just a pet. Pets had owners, and although some people taught their pets tricks and shared their food and played games with them and even dressed them up, just as Cream had with Cheese, she didn’t own him. He wasn’t a toy, or an accessory. He was her best friend, and he was part of the family. She asked his opinions on things, and he responded. She’d once bought a little bow tie for him, more as a novelty than anything, but when she’d made to take it off and he’d immediately retreated, refusing to let her touch him until she’d reassured him that he could wear it for as long as he wanted. This had seemed to satisfy him, and it had stayed in place ever since.

In the beginning he’d communicated with her largely through pantomime, since he clearly understood what she was telling him, but she’d been a little slower to understand him. It had taken some effort, but she’d persevered, and now they could hold entire conversations that would only be half-intelligible to the untrained ear. They did everything together, sharing not just the same home but the same bed and the same food. They played games together, drew pictures together, picked flowers together, watched TV together for as long as mother would permit, and even went on adventures together, but perhaps most importantly of all, Cheese had taught her to fly.

It wasn’t that Cream had learned how to fly by watching Cheese do it. She’d discovered all on her own that she could lift herself off the ground after experimentally flapping her ears, and further experimentation had proven that she could fly high into the air if she flapped them long and hard enough.

Unfortunately, she got tired after doing it for too long. Landings were also something of a problem, and although she’d manage to slow the descent of her first ill-fated ascent by aiming for a handy tree, her mother had not been amused at the twigs and leaves in her daughter’s fur, nor the dirt on her dress, to say nothing of the fact that she could have been seriously hurt. She’d been grounded- literally- for perhaps the first and only time in her life, and had cried herself to sleep that night.

Cream’s ears were large and soft and drooped down to a point just past her shoulders. She’d actually been a little self-conscious of them before she’d met Cheese, worrying that she’d never grow into them, but it had been Cheese who’d encouraged her to try flying again, and as her skill had grown so too had her confidence. The time they’d spent practicing together had finally paid off when her mom had been abducted, and although Sonic had been a big help in rescuing her it had been Cream’s ability to fly that had let her keep pace with him to begin with.

Now, the feature of her appearance that she’d once worried would invite ridicule was the thing she liked the most about herself. Aside from Cheese and herself, she knew of many other creatures that could fly- a bat, a bee, even a fox who’d admitted that he’d been teased for having two tails before discovering he could use them to fly- but no rabbits. Part of her secretly enjoyed that. It meant she was special. Unique, just like Cheese.

On some level, it had vaguely occurred to her that she stuck out in her current surroundings. It wasn’t simply that she was a rabbit, for Station Square had a population of over two million people and not all of them were human. It went deeper than that.

Cream liked to walk, drinking in every detail of the environment as though testing the limits of what her senses could handle before they were overwhelmed. On her first visit to Station Square, she’d spent so much time tilting her head back to squint at the tops of the buildings receding skywards that she’d given herself a sore neck, but once she’d observed the skyline from above she’d deigned to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground, her attention drawn to things at eye level rather than beyond it. She could barely get five steps before passing a store front and finding herself captivated by the goods on display, peering through the sheet glass windows for minutes on end as though she were a moviegoer transfixed by a static screen.

Mannequins strutted unmovingly in boutiques selling clothes that she could only hope she’d one day be able to fit into, while bookstores presented rows upon rows of volumes by authors she’d never even heard of, holding the promise of thousands of hours worth of literature just waiting to be consumed. There were trendy coffee shops with furnishings of shiny glass and metal and bright, cheerful fast food joints with plastic counter tops and leather-seated booths, the delicious aromas of ground coffee and sizzling grease mingling in the air as she neared them, enticing her with the prospect of consumption that would satisfy her stomach as effectively as a good book could sate her curious mind. There were even occasional hidden gems that she seemed to stumble across quite by accident, like the quaint antiques stores with dusty shelves that belied the fascinating story every knickknack and oddment within surely had to tell, and the gorgeous little cafes that offered ice creams and pastries you wouldn’t have thought possible to find outside of a street vendor’s cart in Apotos or a pâtisserie in Spagonia, lovingly crafted by people who could proudly trace their heritage back to those very places and who had journeyed so far just to share their delights with you.

Station Square seemed a city of endless wonders for Cream even now, but where she walked with her head on a swivel, not wanting to miss even the smallest point of interest, the people around her bustled up and down the sidewalks with their gazes fixed forwards. Slick executives with their phones wedged between their shoulders and their ears hugged their briefcases to the fronts of their immaculately-pressed suits as they attempted to simultaneously drink their coffee, eat their breakfast muffins and navigate their way through portfolios and investments and mergers and other stuff that Cream didn’t understand, nor was in any immediate hurry to.

Kids weaved seamlessly through the crowds as if they’d already memorized the location of every individual in their path, gazes cast downwards and slaved to the screens of their phones, earbuds in, music on, thumbs tapping out shorthand replies. Groups as small as two or as large as five sometimes joined the foray- shy young couples headed on a date to Twinkle Park with their fingers entwined, or parties of college-age revelers with their minds set on the sun and sand of Emerald Coast or the slots of Casinopolis- but they all seemed to share the singular, focused drive of people who knew exactly where they were going and what they wanted to do when they got there.

It felt as though it were something that was instilled into the people who lived here over the course of time and Cream had managed to avoid contracting thus far. She hoped she never did. In fact, she felt a little bit sorry for them. She couldn’t imagine living a life governed by routine, knowing what would happen every single day of the week and never allowing yourself to experience anything different. It seemed such a terrible waste, confining yourself to such a narrow path when the vast concrete sprawl of the city had so much more to offer to those who ventured off the beaten track.

Cheese seemed to echo the sentiment, for he always kept close to Cream on their ventures to the city. She didn’t blame him, of course. Chao were drawn to people, and Station Square itself had a famous Chao Garden that played host to many happy and healthy Chao, but while the streets were lively and exciting to her, Cheese had never much cared for cities. To him, cities were loud and dirty and they smelled funny. He’d enjoyed playing with his fellows at the Chao Garden, but outside there were too many people and not all of them looked where they were going.

Ironically, the one thing neither of them were worried about was the possibility of him being abducted. Chao were popular targets for the kind of people who would stoop so low as to steal people’s pets, small and non-threatening, and although it was saddening to think that such people existed Cream had unfortunately dealt with that sort of thing in the past. Nobody had yet tried to steal Cheese, and she fervently hoped nobody ever would.

Quite frankly, in the event some did she’d be more concerned for the safety of whoever who was foolish enough to try than she would for Cheese’s well-being.

Even discounting the likelihood of kidnapping, however, Cream could understand Cheese’s discomfort. Chao were social by nature, but they thrived in places of natural beauty. Station Square was beautiful in its own way, but natural it was not. She enjoyed her visits here, but their home was the very antithesis of a city. The tallest of the Leaf Forest Zone’s vertical loops and sloping hills would have been dwarfed even by the most diminutive of Station Square’s skyscrapers, and the smooth, rigid arrangement of the city’s car-lined streets made her native Zone’s flower-scattered terrain look almost sloppy by comparison. Leaf Forest had lakes and gullies of cool water that shone crystalline blue on a clear day, the surface disturbed only by the downpour of raindrops and waterfalls; Station Square had beaches, heated swimming pools, and a vast sewer system that still hadn’t quite recovered from the time an immortal, godlike being had weaponized it in an attempt to destroy the entire city by flash flooding.

Dismissing that grim recollection from her mind, Cream’s hand dipped into the grocery bag and fumbled exploratively within its contents until her fingers closed around what she was searching for: a firm, crunchy carrot. When she’d been little, she’d developed a bad habit of chewing off the top of the baguette and munching on the soft white crumb within; mother had allowed the practice until she’d grown tired of arriving home to find that Cream had hollowed the loaf out to the length her arm could reach, leaving only the crust, but although she’d remained a grazer Cream had begun to develop a penchant for crunchier foods as she got older. Carrots were a favorite snack, sweet and healthy and best eaten fresh.

In any case, she was sure mother wouldn’t mind if she helped herself to just one from the bunch. Shared between her and Cheese, it surely wouldn’t spoil their appetites for dinner. She bit down on the middle, popped half of it into her mouth and held out the rest to Cheese, who was gazing off into the distance.

“Here, Cheese. Would you like some?”

The Chao regarded the carrot for a brief moment, gave a little shake of his head, and went back to staring at nothing. Cream frowned. It was unlike Cheese to turn down a treat, and while he was admittedly more fond of fruit than vegetables he was more than accustomed to sharing.

“What’s the matter?” Cream asked, drawing to a halt. Her youthful features creased with concern, her tone gentle and unaccusing. “Are you not feeling well?”

Cheese gave neither a verbal response nor motioned to reply, his mouth a grim little line, his eyes wide as if he were anticipating something in the distance that only he could see. Cream followed his gaze, seeing only throngs of people milling about the sidewalk. The road was choked with traffic; a line of cars that had been crawling along at a pace not much faster than she could walk had ground to a halt. In the distance, she could hear a chorus of bleating horns punctuating the general hubbub all around her.

Then she heard someone scream.

Nobody around her reacted- which made sense, for she had the largest and therefore presumably the most sensitive ears of anyone in the vicinity, so she may well have been the only one to hear it- but then she saw Cheese flinch. The little Chao looked stricken, his big, baby-blue eyes fixing on hers as though imploring her to understand. He seemed not so much to have heard the scream but to have felt it. Cream didn’t understand. All she knew for sure was that something was seriously wrong. Someone had screamed, and that meant they were hurt, or scared, or-

Another scream rang out in the near distance, followed by another. This time, the people around her began to react. A couple of off-duty construction workers returning from their lunch break exchanged apprehensive glances. A young boy tugged at his mother’s sleeve, asked her what was happening, and received no answer beyond a vague reassurance that everything was fine; he seemed about as convinced as his mother did, which was to say not at all. A police officer leaned into her radio and started to say something before a trio of kids not much older than Cream tumbled out of the throng ahead of her. Two of them simply took off down the street at full pelt, but the third stopped just long enough to yell three words:

“Run! It’s coming!”

The statement was addressed to everyone in earshot, and although it was ambiguous enough not to be helpful, it carried just enough threat to get a reaction. People began to move, slowly at first, backing away while keeping their eyes fixed ahead as if afraid whatever was coming would gain in traction if left unobserved, but as more people joined it the crowd began to gain momentum, surging back down the street and meeting more people who reacted with the same kind of nervous confusion that their precursors had.

As the crowd became a stampede, Cream felt someone barge into her from behind. She lost her footing, and instinctively threw out her hands to break her fall. The grocery bag hit the sidewalk a second before her outstretched palms did. She winced, overcome for the briefest moment with worry about what mother would say about the broken eggs and the grazes on her bare knees; it only stung a little, but she did hate how mother fussed over the slightest injury as though she were made of porcelain. Would she even be trusted to go shopping for groceries again after this?

Then she realized she couldn’t see Cheese, and the eggs suddenly seemed the least important thing in the whole wide world.

“Cheese!” she cried out, heartbeat pounding painfully in her chest as panic began to set in. Her head whipped back and forth, ears flopping from side to side. “Cheese, where are you?!”

Her voice was all but lost in the shouts and screams of the people all around her, the chorus becoming a discordant mess as blaring car horns and sirens chimed in. Running feet thundered down the sidewalk, but nobody stopped. The police officer she’d seen earlier, a human woman with brown skin and dark hair tied back in a ponytail, pushed her way through the churning mass of the crowd and found her way to Cream’s side, dropping to a crouch and doing an admirable job of keeping the concern showing on her face out of her voice.

“Miss, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I can’t find Cheese!” she wailed, then mentally shook herself, desperately trying to give the words context as they tripped over themselves in their haste to get out of her mouth. “Cheese- my Chao, his name’s Cheese- he was here just a second ago and then I fell and- I don’t- I don’t know where he is, I can’t see him and when I called him he didn’t-”

The police officer’s hand landed on her arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’ll find him, but right now we need to get out of here. Can you stand? Can you do that for me?”

Cream sniffled, blinked away her welling tears, and gave an affirmative nod before allowing herself to be helped up. She could have stood on her own, of course. It just seemed polite, considering the lady had stopped to help her. The police officer leaned into her radio again, thumbing the push-to-talk button.

“Sigma Seven One Eight to Dispatch-”

That was as far as she got before the wave hit them.

The human might have at least had time to brace herself for the impact if she’d been facing the other way; the water was up to her chest, but the top of of Cream’s head barely reached the woman’s belt. At two foot three and just over twenty-five pounds, the little rabbit never stood a chance.

The water barreled down the street with the speed and ferocity of a runaway freight train. It didn’t flow between the buildings so much as force its way between them, sweeping up cars and street signs and whatever else dared to stand in its path like a greedy conqueror eager to add trophies to their hoard. It filled every empty space, and when there was no space left to fill it simply pushed until it made more. Overburdened sewer grates choked on the current and then violently regurgitated it. Manhole covers erupted from the ground like wine corks as the asphalt around them crumpled.

Cream gasped as the wave plowed into her, knocking her off her feet and scooping her into a churning vortex before she even had time to hit the ground. Salt water plugged her ears and stung her nostrils as she cartwheeled in the churning vortex. The icy shock of it made her wince, and she instinctively squeezed her eyes and mouth shut. When she opened her eyes again, she could see nothing but a roiling haze of greenish blue, and up and down had been rendered meaningless by the dissolution of the world around her. The cold lanced through the thin fabric of her clothes and seeped past layers of skin and muscle until it had permeated her bones, numbing her, crushing her chest in a vice grip as it tried to get her to relinquish what precious little oxygen she held in her lungs. She could hear nothing except an hollow rumbling in her skull that was punctuated by an incessant thudding, as though her heart was trying to beat an escape route through her eardrums. Her heart and lungs demanded oxygen, urging her to breathe, and when she refused to comply the pain in her chest intensified in protest. Her brain was greedily using up what little her lungs had already taken in, wasting it on bringing her the entirely unhelpful realization that she was going to die.

_It’s not fair._

The thought was almost laughably petulant, but she clung to it like a safety blanket. No, it wasn’t fair. She was six years old, and neither willing nor prepared to die.

Black and purple spots danced in front of her eyes. The huge, rectangular outline of what had to be a car drifted past almost lazily, as if encouraging her to simply give up and let the tide take her, and yet her brain was still stubbornly refusing to stop sending commands to her limbs despite her nervous system’s refusal to take heed. She collided with something as least as big as her and twice as solid; the tips of her fingers clawed desperately for traction, finding only smooth hardness before the current dragged her off of it.

She was struck by the sudden thought that she would never see her mom or Cheese or any of her friends again, and the tightness in her chest became frighteningly painful as the reality of her situation hardened like cement. Cheese was gone. The nice human lady was gone. There was nobody left to help her. Nobody’s going to save me, she realized, and all at once the panic dissipated and was replaced by a curious, calm acceptance as the darkness of the thought gave way to the reassuring light of epiphany, a metaphorical bulb flickering to life in the control room of her brain.

 _Nobody’s_ _going_ _to_ _help_ _me_.

 _I_ _have_ _to_ _help_ _myself_.

She tucked her elbows in, straightened her legs, and leaned back as best she was able. She snorted with the exertion, and a column of bubbles rose from her nostrils, her cheeks bulging like a pufferfish.

_Stay calm, Cream. Be brave. You’re not a baby. You’re a big girl now. You can do this. Open your eyes. Yes, it hurts, but do you want to get water in your eyes or do you want to drown?_

The wobbly panorama of the skyscrapers overhead burst like a sheet of old-fashioned window glass as her face breached the surface. With the water plugging her ears and splashing into her open eyes she was still deaf and half-blind, but all she could think to do was breathe. She wheezed, drawing in great, greedy gasps of air and accidentally inhaled some of the water splashing into her face, the salt stinging her throat and leaving a foul taste in her mouth. The current was no longer blasting down the street in a destructive, high-pressure wave, but simply flowing with the lazy, unhurried self-assurance of a river. It seemed not to be in any rush simply because it knew it couldn’t be stopped. What was she going to do now, she wondered? Where would it end up taking her? Even if she had the strength to cry out for help, Cheese was still gone, and the chances of anyone even hearing her were slim to-

_“There! Down there!”_

_“I see her!”_

...None?

A curious sensation of weightlessness came over her, and as the sound of rushing water grew distant she realized she was ascending, though not of her own volition. A cool, pleasant glow shimmered at the edges of her peripheral vision, and as she craned her neck she could see a thin film of cyan light encapsulating her body, scooping her out of the water like a goldfish in an aquarium net.

_“Got her!”_

_“Easy, easy-”_

_“-she alright?”_

_“-breathing, she’s breathing!”_

_“Oh, thank God-”_

The chorus of overlapping voices sounded strangely hollow, muffled by the water in her ears. Indistinct figures clamored around her, smudges of green and purple and grey permeating the cyan light. She descended horizontally until she felt firm flat hardness beneath her back, and the light relinquished control of her limbs as it faded. The water was shockingly cold, but her body had just about adjusted to it; laying on the stone, spluttering and shivering and struggling to regulate her breathing, her waterlogged dress felt like a straitjacket.

“Anyone got a blanket or something? She could be in shock.”

“Never mind shock, she’s going to catch hypothermia at this rate. Get back. Give her some breathing room.”

“Be a miracle if she’s not got any broken bones, the speed that water was moving-”

A hazy ball of light hung in the air above her, a crackling gently as a pair of white-gloved hands shaped it like clay. Her vision was still bleary, her eyelashes gritty with salt, and when she moved to wipe them someone caught hold of her wrist and gently returned it to her side.

“Easy, kiddo. You’re okay. Just lay still and let Blaze do her thing.”

 _Blaze?_ It couldn’t be. She must have misheard them. She must have. Maybe she just had water stuck in her ears or something.

And yet...

“...Blaze?”

“I’m here, Cream.”

Even when she was crouching Blaze looked poised and noble, her back straight and her legs bent at the knee, her face level with Cream’s as the rabbit pushed herself into a sitting position. The cat’s lavender fur was soft and dry, an upright plume of a ponytail standing to attention atop her head while the longer fur at the sides of her face swept upwards in graceful crescents. She held a small flame in her cupped hand, eyes shut, brow furrowed with concentration. The base of the flame sat comfortably in her palm, but the heat it gave off was so intense that Cream almost flinched when the cat’s other hand found her fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. It was such a small gesture, but it seemed almost surreal coming from someone who’d treated the very idea of friendship like a taboo when they’d first met.

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You’re not a baby. You’re a big girl. Big girls don’t cry. Don’t start crying. Not in front of Blaze._

An ashy, faintly exotic smell that Cream couldn’t place found its way to her nostrils as she hooked her arms around Blaze’s neck and pulled her into a hug. The purple fabric of the cat’s uniform looked as regal as she did, expertly stitched from a thin fabric that was as soft as cotton but with the rich smoothness of silk. For a brief moment Cream almost felt guilty for dirtying it, but the warmth emanating from beneath it was so comforting that she felt she’d never want to let go.

“See?” Blaze said, addressing someone Cream couldn’t see with her face buried in the cat’s shoulder. “I told you we’d find her.”

Something soft and smooth and rounded wiggled its way into the hug, nuzzling against her chin and making gentle cooing noises. Unintelligible to the untrained ear, perhaps, but to her the meaning was as clear as the little squeeze Blaze had given her hand.

_I’m here. You’re my best friend, and nothing is ever going to keep me away from you._

Cream let the tears come as Cheese sandwiched himself between Blaze’s body and her own, her embarrassment eclipsed by relief as she offered up a silent prayer of gratitude to whatever higher force had deigned to grant her a miracle.

No, not just one miracle. Two miracles. She was was alive. Cheese was alive. Everything was going to be okay.

“Cheese!” she squeaked, her delight palpable despite the strain on her throat. “Oh, thank goodness you’re alright! I was so worried, I thought that- I thought I was never going to-”

Her voice petered out into a whimper, but the unsaid portion of the sentence left little to the imagination. The flame in Blaze’s hand winked out; little tendrils of steam rose from the cracks in her fingers as her palm made gentle, circular motions on Cream’s back. Behind her, Vector the Crocodile folded his arms across his broad, scaly chest and quietly swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

“ _You_ were worried?" he huffed, doing his best to pass off the tremor in his voice as burgeoning laughter. "Seriously kid, how do you think _we_ felt?”


	5. Into The Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce is alone, unarmed and exhausted. The fate of the world is quite literally in his hands.

SWATbot #091-81993 trudged through Sector 3C-0408 with its arms by its sides, its optical visor staring unblinkingly into the distance. Its movements were stiff and clunky, its steps precisely measured; a line of evenly-spaced bootprints marked a neat path where the heat-baked soil had crumbled under the weight of its soles.

SWATbot #091-81993 was armed with a retractable wrist blaster, but since a rudimentary scan showed no sign of hostiles in this sector, SWATbot #091-81993 knew it did not need to ready its weapon. Since it did not need to ready its weapon, SWATbot #091-81993 kept its arms by its sides.

SWATbot #091-81993’s internal processor indicated that its power supply was running low, and so it had automatically initiated energy saving mode. Any non-essential actions, such as movements of its extremities, would be a violation of its energy-saving subroutines. At present, SWATbot #091-81993’s only duty was to carry out a patrol, and this objective only necessitated the movement of the revolute joints in SWATbot #091-81993’s legs. Its onboard sensors detected no movement, audio, or heat signatures that necessitated any further action, and so it would continue on its preset path until such time as its navigation software decided it needed to change its course, or its threat response algorithm was initiated. For its threat response algorithm to be initiated, its threat detection systems would have to first detect a threat, assess it, and conclude that it merited further response.

If SWATbot #091-81993 had any opinions, it would probably have thought this unlikely. SWATbot #091-81993 knew this sector had been pacified, first by orbital bombardment and then by a systematic sweep-and-clear operation conducted by ground forces. SWATbot #091-81993 had been a part of the sweep-and-clear operation, and copies of the memory files pertaining to it were still stored in its internal database. If it were to calculate the probability of encountering hostile forces in this sector, the figure would not have been very high, for the majority of the hostile forces defending this sector had been eliminated and this sector was of low strategic importance.

SWATbot #091-81993 did not, however, have any opinions. It had not been designed, nor constructed, nor programmed to have opinions. It had been designed, constructed, and programmed to adhere to a basic set of directives, and that was what it did.

SWATbot #091-81993 did not trouble itself with thoughts more complex than the limited responses to external stimuli that it had been programmed with. If it did, it would not have led a very happy existence.

For example, while SWATbot #091-81993 knew that if its power supply were to run dry it would cease to function, it had no opinions on this. It wasn’t bothered by the possibility of its own obsolescence. It had simply received the information from the simple system that was responsible for monitoring its functionality, logged the data and transmitted it to the station responsible for maintenance and repairs before automatically initiating low power mode.

The process hadn’t required any independent thought on the part of its limited artificial intelligence. It was simply a problem to be solved, and SWATbot #091-81993 had a pre-programmed response for just about every problem that its algorithms could conceive of.

When SWATbot #091-81993’s audio receptors had identified a noise that was not consistent with the steady, measured thudding of its footfalls or the metallic whirring of its revolute leg joints, its logic center concluded that the noise was anomalous and therefore worthy of investigation. SWATbot #091-81993’s audio receptors triangulated the source of the noise and relayed the information to its central processor, which reacted accordingly. Its dome-shaped head swiveled until the dull red visor was facing the direction that its audio receptors had called its attention to, and a single word flashed across its heads-up display.

**[SCANNING.]**

SWATbot #091-81993 waited patiently, for it was not in any hurry. It had already calculated precisely how long the scan would take to complete, and, barring any unforeseen results, its analysis would be completed with plenty of time for it to complete its pre-programmed route.

**[NO THREATS DETECTED.]**

SWATbot #091-81993 was not surprised by this. Even if it had the capacity to be surprised, it could easily have dismissed the noise as a glitch in its audio receptors, or the wind, or something similarly pedestrian.

SWATbot #091-81993 was also not surprised when something dropped onto it from above. Its onboard sensors registered the impact and its balance gyros tried valiantly to compensate for it, extremities flailing in a clear violation of its energy-saving subroutines that could only have been invoked by its limited capacity for self-preservation.

SWATbot #091-81993 knew that it was being attacked, but against an enemy it could not see its options were severely limited.

The impact of a large rock against the top of its domed head canopy was enough to provoke a critical threat warning, but SWATbot #091-81993 was still unsurprised. Pain and fear were abstract concepts, and the closest thing it had to them was simply data to be logged. The algorithm responsible for maintenance blithely identified the damaged components and flagged them for repair while its damaged targeting system scanned ineffectually for a target, neither one very much concerned with what the other was doing.

The rock came down again, denting SWATbot #091-81993’s armor and crushing several components badly enough for its processor to decide that they should instead be flagged for replacement instead of repair. SWATbot #091-81993’s heads-up display dissolved into a mess of static before plunging into darkness; the targeting system, no longer able to even attempt to do its job, simply pinged an unsympathetic error message to SWATbot #091-81993’s central processor and took no further action.

Though SWATbot #091-81993 was blind and crippled, its limited artificial intelligence was still operational, still aware that it was in danger but incapable of figuring out an appropriate response. Its subroutines buzzed with inputs that could be likened to panic, its logic algorithms unable to maintain order.

As the rock came down once more, so too did the curtain on the grim parody of life that SWATbot #091-81993’s existence had been up until this point. Its revolute knee joints buckled, and it pitched forward into the dirt with its assailant still clinging to its armored shoulders like a backpack.

Royce gave the SWATbot a couple more whacks before clambering off of it. The repeated impacts had split open the robot’s mechanical skull like a particularly difficult and unappetizing fruit, freeing the mangled circuitry of its brains from the confines of its head canopy and spilling liquid fuel that gave off a coppery stink similar to blood. Its limbs twitched in jerky mechanical spasms as the remaining shreds of its fading power supply navigated damaged circuits without the aid of its processor to guide them.

Royce knew the thing wasn’t getting back up, but he was glad when it finally went still. The ferocity of the blows had split the rock neatly in half, and as it came apart in his cupped hands he tossed both pieces aside. He was thankful that the makeshift weapon had at least lasted long enough to serve its purpose, but unhappy about being left defenseless. Even if he could somehow pull the SWATbot’s wrist blaster free of its housing without breaking any of the key components, it still needed a power supply.

He drew back a foot, preparing to aim a kick at the thing’s ruined head, and thought better of it. Yes, it would have been nice to be rewarded with a weapon for his victory, but perhaps surviving the encounter was reward enough.

SWATbots like this one were basically antiques by now, and judging by the mottled, flaking patches of rust streaked along its armor, this one hadn’t seen maintenance in a while. Perhaps they’d dug it out of storage to keep the numbers up, or perhaps it had simply been roaming around since the start of the war and the enemy had simply never bothered to decommission it.

As Royce pondered the inert lump of metal laying before him, he found that neither of those possibilities struck him as particularly likely. The Empire’s forces were precise, methodical. Every troop movement and deployment that he’d ever witnessed had been coordinated to maximize destructive efficiency, with orderly columns of rolling Moto Bugs and hovering Buzz Bombers covering every square inch of terrain, undeterred by whatever losses they sustained and simply replenishing their numbers with more mass-produced cannon fodder that thought nothing of walking or rolling or flying into incoming fire. Badniks didn’t mourn their dead; they simply ignored them, sweeping up the remains as an afterthought to be recycled rather than honored with a military funeral.

The death of a living soldier was a tragedy, a sacrifice to be mourned. The loss of a single Badnik was simply a statistic to be logged, a serial number to be struck off a list in a computer somewhere.

It was that hideously systematic approach to war that made the SWATbot’s presence such an anachronism. Badniks were creatures of pure, dispassionate logic. What they lacked in the capacity for creative thought, they made up for with the ability to run thousands of calculations per second. Since their brains were just computers, even the ones programmed with a basic, “dumb” artificial intelligence could process data faster than any living being could dream of. It was almost impossible for them to make mistakes, let alone make a conscious decision to go AWOL. The SWATbot must have been here for a reason, yet no plausible reason was presenting itself.

Royce glanced down at the SWATbot’s corpse again, though perhaps corpse was an unfitting word for something that had never truly been alive in the first place.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” he asked it, more than a little rhetorically. “Where’s all your buddies, huh?”

Predictably, it didn’t answer. He gazed into the darkness once more, his natural night vision rearranging in distinct shapes into familiar rock formations. His sensitive ears stood to attention, but as he held his breath all was silent. The only movement he was aware of was his own heart drumming against his ribcage.

 _HydroCity to the west and Lava Reef to the east,_ he reminded himself. _If there’s any more patrols, I can use the reservoirs for cover, provided the silt hasn’t clogged them again._

He set off, his boots landing in the SWATbot’s oversized footprints but not filling them. Part of him was aware of the possibility that following the trail back to its point of origin would lead him to more enemies, but he reassured himself with the thought that he’d hear them coming.

SWATbots, as their name suggested, were by far the most tactical and streamlined of any Badnik model, vaguely humanoid and grey or sometimes navy blue in color, with the red, horizontal slits of their visors the only splash of color in their otherwise muted palette. The models that had followed them were brightly colored and of wildly varying design, most commonly themed after insects or animals like the ones they used as organic batteries, but the one thing that united them all was that they were loud and clunky. They didn’t bother with stealth or camouflage because they didn’t care if their enemies saw them coming.

The terrain dipped slightly, parallel rock faces forming a narrow valley which the trail of footprints showed that the SWATbot had followed. The foliage overhead had begun to thin out, but a twisting network of thick roots was fused to the checkered rocks, mottled brown and gnarled with age. To Royce’s eye, they looked like nothing so much as the climbing ropes he’d scaled during his training. Even for a climber not as skilled as he was, they would have provided plenty of handholds, and a few experimental tugs proved that they were sturdy enough to support his weight.

Once he’d hoisted himself to the the apex of the rock wall, he cast his gaze out across the horizon. The slopes of Mushroom Hill dropped sharply into a plateau that had to be the Azure Lake Zone; the HydroCity Zone’s reservoirs and aqueducts drew water from the lake, filtering the worst of the pollution out of it, but it hadn’t been safe to drink for quite some time. When the ancients had first constructed the waterways, the only contaminants they’d had in mind were things like mud and stones. They couldn’t possibly have anticipated pollution on the scale the planet had seen, let alone chemical agents cultivated in a laboratory.

His gaze followed an imaginary line, connecting Azure Lake and the HydroCity Zone beneath it to the Lava Reef Zone’s rocky plateaus. The desert’s largest volcano sat at his two o’clock with the air of dragon guarding its hoard, as though daring him to try his luck with an ill-advised shortcut through its treacherous caverns. The grey-white peaks of the Ice Cap Zone jutted skywards at the 11 o’clock position.  
He had his three points of reference. All he needed now was for the weather to cooperate. With one hand anchoring him to the rock face, he gripped the index finger of the glove on his other hand between his teeth and pulled it off, tucking it into his tactical rig and wetting his exposed index finger with his tongue.

A light wind. Light, but it was there. And it was blowing- he pulled his glove back on with his teeth, wiggled his fingers until it felt secure, then checked his compass again- southeast. He almost couldn’t believe it.  
  
The wind rustled the dried-up foliage clinging to the rock face. Royce tensed, planting the soles of his feet against the rock face and leaning forwards, legs bent at the knee, arms forming a V shape behind his back.

The leaves shivered as another gust of wind rolled past, and in the same instant Royce let go of the vines, pushing off with his legs and throwing out his arms as he dropped. The thin, fur-covered membranes that stretched from his wrists to his waist caught the current, and he allowed it to take him, soaring like a leaf shaken loose from a branch.

For a fleeting, blissful moment he allowed himself to shut his eyes and imagine that he was back in the Sugar Splash Zone, gliding between the colossal water towers and vast stone reservoirs without a care in the world. The sweetness of the nostalgia was offset the bitterness of the knowledge that those times were long gone, but the rumble of the air rushing past his head and the feeling of weightlessness as he soared gave him a sense of clarity. That was always the thing he’d like the most about being airborne. With the ground hundreds of feet below, all your problems seemed similarly distant. It was a sensation that he’d almost forgotten existed.

He opened his eyes a fraction to make sure he was still on course, then shut them again and began counting down in his head. Ten kilometers became nine, then eight, and then eight became five as he tucked in his shoulders, dipping into a nosedive before spreading his arms again, climbing in a vertical curve and slowing as he reached the apex before dropping again, arms by his sides.

Three kilometers...two...one…

The air resistance became a roar in his ears as he streaked towards the surface like a missile, throwing out his arms at the last possible moment to slow his descent. He bent his knees as he hit the ground, and rolled to absorb some of the impact. An old adage said any landing you walked away from was a good one, but Royce had mastered the art of a perfect landing long before he’d ever held or even fired a gun. His heart was pounding, and he was a little short of breath, but other than that he was fine. He’d made it.

For a moment he almost felt proud of himself, but then he remembered that he never would have made it this far if not for Shadow.  
There were a set of railroad tracks not far from where he’d landed. He followed them for about half a mile, checking the direction in which they were headed against his compass. Eventually the tracks were swallowed by the mouth of a cave, set in the side of a sheer and otherwise unremarkable cliff face like an enormous gunshot wound. Undeterred by the ominous image that his own mind had conjured up, Royce stepped inside.

Inside the cave was a tunnel, and although it was as black as pitch Royce’s natural night vision picked out rows of wooden planks lining the walls. Though many appeared to have rotted with age, the sturdy wooden support beams that held the roof of the tunnel aloft were in good condition. The tracks followed a slight incline downwards, and Royce took care to watch his footing as he stepped between the neatly-spaced gauges.

It only took a few minutes for him to reach the end of the tunnel. Faced with a wall of smooth, flat stone, Royce counted the tiles, made a fist and thumped three times on the one he’d picked out from its identical surroundings. His ears picked up a muffled scratching sound, and a moment later the tile retreated into the wall; a harsh white light shone out of the opening and he winced as it flashed into his eyes, killing his night vision.

“Get that light out of my face!” he hissed, shielding his eyes with his fingers.

“What’s your-”

“Sugarman,” he said curtly, cutting the unseen speaker off. “Sierra Kilo Zero Five Two Five. Now open the door. I need to see Carlos, ASAP.”

“See if his clearance checks out,” another disembodied voice said, somewhat muffled.

“Clearance?” Royce repeated. His tone was as scathing as it was incredulous. “Alright, fine. How’s this for clearance?”

He delved into his utility belt and extracted the Chaos Emerald, holding it up to the light for the appraisal of whoever was behind the wall. There was a brief silence, followed by the sound of stone scraping against stone as the tile slid back into place, and then the wall itself retreated into the ceiling, leaving a doorway just wide enough for him to step through.

It wasn’t until he saw the first speaker- a grim-looking walrus with a flashlight in one hand and a vicious-looking knife in the other- that he realized just how stupid that gesture had been. If they’d have thought he was going for a weapon...

“Get inside,” the walrus snapped. Royce did as he was bade.

The walrus was heavyset, a trait not unusual for his species, but there was a denseness to his stocky frame that suggested much of his his paunch had been compacted into muscle. Half of his face was bandaged, his eyes heavily lined from age or stress or both, and one of his tusks ended a few inches above where the point of the second one dropped to. More than likely it had been broken off, but Royce couldn’t help noticing that the end had been filed flat.

“Is it real?”

The question hadn’t come from the walrus, but from his opposite number- a fox with fur that had once been red but was now grayed with either age or accumulated dust. It could have been either. Royce hadn’t even seen a shower since the Sugar Splash Zone had first fallen, and clean water was too precious a resource to waste on personal hygiene. The fox had a bandolier of magazine pouches slung across his chest, an assault rifle resting in the crook of his arm, and a chunk missing from his left ear. A rather battered combat helmet hung by its chin straps from his belt.

“What?”

“The Emerald,” the fox repeated, indicating it with a nod. “Is it real?”

“It’s real, alright. I nearly got killed trying to get it back here. If it hadn’t been for Shadow, I probably-”

“Wait, wait, wait. Shadow? As in ‘The Hedgehog’?” The interruption had come from the walrus, whose tone was halfway between disbelief and disgust.

“Yeah,” Royce said flatly. “The one and only.”

The fox looked as tired as Royce felt, but seemed to visibly stand to attention at the mention of Shadow. “You saw him?”

“I _met_ him,” Royce clarified. “He was the one who gave me the Emerald in the first place.”

The walrus folded his arms across his burly chest, canting his head to one side. The fox was agape.

“How did he get his hands on one?”

Royce shrugged. “How should I know?”

The fox peered past Royce’s shoulder, squinting into the darkness. “He’s not with you?”

Royce felt a fresh surge of guilt fill his throat like bile. He cast his gaze downwards, rolling the Emerald absently between his fingers as though it were a Chun-nan medicine ball.

“No. He...didn’t make it.”

“Damn,” the fox sighed, giving a short shake of his head. The walrus let out a derisive grunt.

“Whatever. I’m not about to shed any tears for that traitor.”

Royce fixed him with a stare, not so much annoyed as dumbfounded. “Were you not listening? He sacrificed himself to get us a Chaos Emerald, man.”

“Why couldn’t he have delivered it himself?” the walrus demanded. “He left you holding the bag while he made a quick getaway, huh? That it?”

“What? No! We were attacked!” Royce answered, his voice carrying in the dimly-lit expanse of the cavern as his tone raised a notch. “He used the Emerald to- some kind of teleport? I don’t know what he did exactly, but one minute I was in Green Hill and the next I was on Angel Island, and he...wasn’t.”

“Well, isn’t that convenient?” the walrus sneered.

“Oh, what the hell is your problem? He gave me the Emerald, not to mention saved my life!”

“Kid, I was there when that scumbag turned traitor on us,” the walrus growled. “You’re probably too young to remember, but Shadow-”

“I was there too, Dagger,” the fox chimed in, cutting the walrus off before Royce could retort that he was old enough to remember watching the Empire’s forces invade his home. “I served alongside Shadow back when G.U.N. still existed. He was one of the good guys. All due respect to him, he-”

“Respect?!” Dagger repeated, the word coming out as a harsh bark that could almost have been a laugh. “What respect is he due, Apollo? Huh? What respect? He’s as much the reason the world ended as Eggman is! I’m telling you, if it had been me out there instead of the kid I would’ve put a bullet between his eyes the minute I saw him.”

 _You wouldn’t have gotten the chance_ , Royce felt like saying. He was starting to get seriously pissed off at the way Dagger kept calling him a kid, and judging by the look on Apollo’s face, the fox was on his side.

“Carlos trusts him,” Royce pointed out. “He trusted him enough to arrange a meet in the first place, didn’t he?”

The walrus cast his gaze furtively over one shoulder, his voice dropping to a low grumble. “Yeah, well...Carlos isn’t exactly-”

Whatever else he had to say was lost as the keening wail of an alarm rang out. The noise was horrendous, echoing through the cavern and making all three of them jump as the acoustics of the ancient stone bounced the noise back at them. Apollo pulled on his helmet, leaving the chin straps hanging loose and racking the charging handle of his rifle; Dagger flexed his fingers around the handle of a knife he'd extracted from the bandolier stretching across his chest. 

“The hell is that?” Dagger yelled.

“Proximity warning!” Apollo shouted back. “Something must’ve tripped one of the topside sensors!”

Royce was just about to ask what the probability of it being a false alarm was when the wall exploded.

Smoldering chunks of rubble rained down on Royce as they tumbled away from the epicenter of the blast. The force of the shockwave had blown him off his feet, and he could see Dagger’s bulky outline sprawled in an unmoving heap beside him. Apollo was still standing, the muzzle of his rifle aiming at the ground, his silhouette staggering through the billowing smoke and dust as if punch-drunk. Royce could hear nothing except a high-pitched ringing noise, a single unbroken note punctuated by the hollow thumping of his heartbeat in his ears, but as the ringing began to fade the thumping was replaced by a rhythmic metallic pounding that had a strange crunchy quality to it, as though dozens of stones were being ground in a rock crusher.

“Apollo?” Royce yelled, his own voice sounding strangely distant even to his own ears as he crawled over to Dagger, giving his shoulder a shake. “You alright?”

Neither of them responded. The crunching sound was growing louder.

“Apollo? Apollo, where are you? Dagger’s down! I need help over here!”

No response. The metallic crunching suddenly stopped.

Royce looked up.

Two glowing red points of light stared back at him.


	6. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G.U.N. deploys its premier special operations unit to investigate the collapse of Angel Island, but it quickly becomes apparent that this is more than just a routine intelligence-gathering mission.

Shadow winced, unable to stop himself letting out a grunt of discomfort as pain lanced through the top of his skull. His fingers were balled into fists, his clenched teeth not quite suppressing the noise as he squeezed his eyes tight shut. The pain seemed to be spreading, intensifying as it traveled from his forehead to his temples; then, just as quickly as it had come, it vanished.

“Shadow? You okay there, hon?”

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Rouge. Not the worst thing he could have possibly been confronted with, even if she was looking at him as though worried he might explode. The bat's teal eyes were wide, her lips forming a thin, apprehensive line as she waited for him to respond. 

“I’m-”   


He groped for the words, uncharacteristically unsure of himself. He couldn’t put a name to what he’d just felt- not the suddenness and intensity of the pain, nor the lingering sensation of unease it had left in its stead- and he wasn’t given to flowery metaphors or exaggeration. To say that it felt like someone was driving white-hot knives into his skull painted a pretty vivid picture, but it just wasn’t the kind of thing he’d say. It sounded ridiculous even in his head, so he couldn’t imagine what Rouge would think if he were to come out with it.

“I’m fine,” he managed, after a second’s consideration. For a fractional moment Rouge looked skeptical, but then her features rearranged themselves into something that looked a lot more like the Rouge he was used to; eyes half-lidded, as though she was especially eager to show off the hue of her eyeshadow (a fetching periwinkle blue) and a matching smirk to display the color of the lipstick she’d chosen (her usual carnation pink).

“Whatever you say, tough guy. Let me know if you need an aspirin or something.”

Shadow had to fight the urge to smile back at that. Coming from anyone else the remark might have sounded harsh or dismissive, but he’d known the bat long enough to recognize the gentle ribbing as a sign that everything was okay. Team Dark, as they’d come to call themselves, were not given to displays of affection. 

Even after this time, Shadow was still grappling with the idea of friendship. He could understand having friends from a dispassionate, tactical point of view, but he’d been manipulated and misled enough times that the idea of putting his trust in people seemed almost to be inviting deception. Opening up to people was just another vulnerability to be exploited, whether by them or by others who would use them to get to you. It flew in the face of logic and reason, violating every principle that had kept him alive this long.

And yet...here he was. Sitting in the bowels of a military shuttle with two people whose pasts were as checkered as his own. Two people he considered friends. 

It helped that Rouge was easy to get along with, of course. She wasn’t some sanctimonious do-gooder, but while she could rightly be accused of having mercenary tendencies she wasn’t evil by any stretch of the imagination. She wasn’t a monster. Shadow knew a monster when he saw one. He’d fought and killed monsters in the past, sometimes with Rouge’s help. 

Rouge was a temptress who exhibited a specific brand of confidence that was unique to narcissists, but crucially she also had the looks to back up her vanity. Her body was lithe and shapely, accentuated by a form-fitting black bodysuit that was cut low enough to show off the flawless olive skin of her bare shoulders. Even her wings were dainty, folded neatly behind her back, and her long lashes and pert lips were delicate enough to almost entirely draw one’s attention away from her large ears, which otherwise might have been her most prominent feature. She was a very attractive woman, and she knew it. She wasn’t afraid to use her looks to get what she wanted, but her desires never extended far beyond whatever shiny or expensive thing was currently the subject of her interest. 

Avarice was Rouge’s sin, not wrath. If he wanted an example of wrath, he need look no further than the two thousand, seven hundred and twelve-pounds of machinery sitting across from him.

E-123 Omega had been observing Shadow since he’d first detected the hedgehog’s discomfort, but if he shared Rouge’s concern he did not show it. This was largely due to the fact that he had no face or facial features to speak of, besides a pair of cylindrical red eyes beneath the flattened yellow canopy of his head platform. A person’s eyes could be perhaps the most expressive part of their face, conveying subtle nuances of emotion that the mere movement of one’s mouth could not, but Omega was not a person. He was a robot. A highly advanced and undeniably sapient robot, but one that had been developed with the singular purpose of being an instrument of war. His stocky frame was vaguely humanoid, but his head was little more than a box sitting atop his equally boxy torso. His stood and walked on two legs, and his arms ended in five-fingered hands just like Shadow and Rouge’s did, but each finger was tipped with a sharp claw and could retract into the studded cuffs of his wrists to deploy any number of built-in weapons systems. 

There was no practical reason that Shadow could think of for Omega to even have arms, much less legs. His locomotion was slow and clunky, so much so that his creator had deigned to install a jet booster in his back should the need for speed arise, but he imagined that Omega’s creator had designed him as much for the intimidation factor as he had for sheer destructive capacity. The robot’s job could just as easily have been done if he were simply a metal box on wheels with guns bolted onto it, but minimalism had never really been Dr. Eggman’s style. 

“You need not be concerned if your own combat effectiveness is impaired,” Omega remarked, his synthesized voice a stunted, echoing drone that sounded like someone reading from a script and enunciating every word through a loudspeaker. “All my systems are currently operating at maximum capacity.”

“So are mine,” Shadow replied, deadpan. The pain had subsided in mere seconds; it was just the inexplicable randomness of it that was still troubling him. He was unused to pain- of the physical variety, at least. Having been genetically engineered to be the Ultimate Life Form, he was immune to all illnesses, diseases, toxins and poisons known to man. He’d been genetically engineered to possess denser bone structure and tougher musculature, making him less susceptible to injury, and any injuries he did sustain healed at an accelerated rate thanks to his enhanced metabolism. He could exert himself at his physical peak for hours without having to worry about neural or metabolic fatigue. He had once survived atmospheric re-entry after falling to Earth from orbit. He did not get migraines.

Omega’s servos whirred as he his burly arms rotated in what Shadow took to be the robotic equivalent of a shrug. He was prone to making spinning movements when left idle for extended periods, and had a particularly disconcerting habit of rotating his head platform through one hundred and eighty degrees like an owl. 

“I am equipped with enough weapons and ammunition to ensure the total annihilation of projected enemy forces in our area of operation,” Omega continued, his voice somehow managing to take on a note of smugness as he added, “I will not require your assistance.”

Before Shadow could dignify the robot’s boasting with a response, Rouge spoke up.

“Omega, you do realize that this is supposed to be a recon mission?”

“Angel Island has fallen into the ocean,” Omega pointed out. “Cross-referencing with historical data indicates that this is the result of the Master Emerald being stolen or shattered. Logic dictates that Dr. Eggman is responsible.”

Rouge shot Shadow a sidelong glance, as if daring him to remember that Rouge herself had been at least tangentially responsible for both of those things in the past, but Shadow knew better than to bring it up. Part of him suspected that even Omega wouldn’t be so bold.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Rouge countered. “Maybe that boneheaded echidna was polishing it and it...slipped out of his hands, or something. I don’t know.”

“If G.U.N. did not suspect Eggman’s involvement, they would not have deployed me,” Omega insisted. 

Rouge arched an eyebrow at him. “What, and you think we’re just here to babysit you?”

“Logical inconsistency: why would someone sit on a baby?”

Rouge stared, temporarily speechless. There was a possibility, however slim, that it could have been a joke, but before either of them could ask if Omega was serious the voice of the shuttle’s pilot crackled over their shared radio channel.

“We’re approaching the DZ now.  Time to insertion: thirty seconds. Greenlight for HALO.”

Shadow didn’t miss the irony in that, and judging from the look on Rouge’s face she didn’t either. HALO stood for high-altitude, low-opening, a common method of inserting special operations troops into a potentially hazardous zone by parachute, but none of them was wearing with a parachute.

“Need a lift?” Rouge asked, unfurling her wings as they shuffled towards the rear of the aircraft. 

“No.”

“Your call,” Rouge replied, holding a lightweight oxygen mask over the olive skin of her bare muzzle and fastening the straps behind her head once she’d sucked in a few experimental breaths. “Just is the you know, though, I’m not catching you if you change your mind halfway down.”

Shadow didn’t respond. The pilot’s voice buzzed over the radio again.

“Commencing depressurization. Stand by.”

An alarm bleated out a short, harsh note as the ramp tail end of the shuttle began to unfold. Cold air rushed into the belly of the craft. Rouge winced, reflexively squinting as the rushing wind stung her eyes and grasping one of the rails bolted to the ceiling to steady herself. Shadow looked as impassive as Omega.

“What’s our altitude right now?” Rouge asked in a muffled shout, pressing the tip of her index finger into her ear.

“Approximately thirty-thousand feet,” Omega answered, without missing a beat. “Or five point six eight miles.” Unlike Shadow and Rouge, who wore covert earpieces, his communications equipment was built in. 

The bat nudged Shadow to get his attention, her mask obscuring the smile that was evident in her voice. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were crazy!”

She wasn’t even expecting a response to that one. The light flickered to green; without waiting for the pilot to confirm they were in range, the hedgehog took a running leap off the end of the ramp. 

As he dropped out of sight, Rouge’s smile rearranged itself into a frown beneath her mask. She and Omega both waited for the pilot to give the go order before they deployed, but by the time they’d both jumped the hedgehog was a distant black speck, streaking towards the surface of the island below. 

Omega’s arms and legs were extended parallel to one another like a skydiver, allowing him to control his descent, but the air resistance meant he was falling faster than Rouge. The bat tucked in her arms and legs, her slim body dropping into a nosedive as she streaked towards the ground like a javelin, leveling out when she drew near him and adjusting her position to keep pace with his descent. 

The island’s terrain became more distinct as she fell, an indistinct grey-white blob sharpening into the highest peak of the Ice Cap Zone while the tiny veins of orange and blue that snaked their way through what she now recognized as Mushroom Hill and Lava Reef became gently rolling streams or sullen fissures of oozing lava. Even by day the neon-lit Carnival Night Zone was a lively splash of bright reds and yellows among the landscape’s otherwise unspoilt palette, which generally consisted of of lush greens and muddy browns. 

Like a dart let loose towards a bullseye, Rouge was aiming for the center of the island. When the Altar of the Master Emerald was close enough that she could pick out the individual stones surrounding the circular column at the center of the clearing, she righted herself in mid-air with the practiced grace of a trapeze artist, slowing her descent to the gentle drift of a feather on a current of wind. She landed without a sound; the jets on Omega’s back ignited for long enough to halt his descent completely, but he was apparently content to let gravity handle the last ten or fifteen feet, landing with a thunderous impact that shook a few leaves loose from the nearby trees. 

After that, there was silence. 

Rouge pulled off her oxygen mask, taking a second to enjoy a deep breath of non-bottled air before straining her large ears for any sound that wasn’t the faint whirring of Omega’s servos, but even with her sensitive hearing she could detect nothing. No birds sang or insects buzzed. No wind rustled the trees or bushes. Even the protruding blades of unkempt grass around her feet stood rigid and unmoving. There was an eerie stillness to the landscape, as though the island itself was observing a moment’s silence out of respect for the missing Master Emerald, the crown jewel notably absent from its throne of mossy stone. 

Shadow was nowhere to be seen, which she supposed was comforting in a way. At least they’d not spotted him impaled on a nearby tree or laying on the ground with two broken legs.

“Shadow’s behavior is aggravating,” Omega intoned, as if reading her mind.

“Yeah. I wish he’d just give it a rest with all the macho crap for once,” she sighed. “Whatever. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“His well being is not my concern. I simply do not wish to share the destruction of the enemy with him.”

Rouge fought the urge to roll her eyes as her hand traveled to her earpiece again. 

“Shadow, this is Rouge. Omega and I are boots on the ground. You still in one piece? Send traffic if you’re hearing this.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” came the reply. “I’m just doing a little short-range recon.”

“What’s the SitRep so far?”

“No sign of the Master Emerald or Knuckles,” Shadow’s voice reported, “But no sign of Eggman either.”

“Okay, solid copy. Meet us back at the DZ when you’re done with...whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Like I said, I’m doing some recon. I’ll let you know if I find anything. Shadow out.”

By Shadow’s standards, that exchange had been pretty wordy. Rouge rapped her knuckles against Omega’s chassis with a hollow clunk to get his attention. 

“Hey, Omega. You mind if I ask you something? Just between us?”

Omega stared into the distance for a moment. 

“Shadow has ceased all communications,” he reported after a brief silence. “He is no longer transmitting or receiving on open frequencies. You may speak frankly.”

Rouge took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “Okay, so...back on the shuttle? What was all that about?”

“I assume you are referring to the signs of physical discomfort that he briefly displayed and dismissed upon being questioned as to his status?”

“Yeah. That was weird, right? It wasn’t just me?”

“Negative. It was uncharacteristic to the point of notability. If I were to hypothesize, I would say there is a possibility that it may somehow be linked to the high-intensity energy spike that occurred just prior to our deployment.”

Rouge canted her head slightly to one side. “Wait, hold on. What do you mean, energy spike? What are you talking about?”

“A localized geomagnetic disturbance of indeterminate origin, similar to the one first observed by G.U.N. monitoring stations when Angel Island collapsed. I detected one while we were approaching the target area.”

Rouge stared. “And is there any particular reason you waited until now to share this?”

“I suspect for the same reason you waited until Shadow was out of audiovisual range to ask me about it,” Omega replied, without missing a beat. 

In spite of herself, Rouge was actually kind of impressed. If he’d not been built for combat, Omega could have made one hell of a poker player. 

“So you think this...energy spike was affecting Shadow somehow?”

“I cannot say with certainty,” Omega replied loftily. “It is a distinct possibility, but correlation does not imply causation.”

“Then what makes you so sure that Eggman’s behind whatever’s happening here?”

“I have terabytes of data relating to Eggman’s schemes. His interest in the Master Emerald and the Chaos Emeralds is well-documented. However, my analysis of the energy spike has proven...inconclusive so far.”

The robot sounded almost embarrassed by the admission, but Rouge wasn’t in the mood to exchange any more verbal jabs. She tapped a finger against her cheek, her chin resting on her knuckles. “Could it have been Chaos Energy? Shadow has kind of a sixth sense about that stuff, doesn’t he? He’s more tuned into it than the average person. Maybe he felt it too and it was...I don’t know, hurting him somehow?”

“Insufficient data. It appears to be distinct from the specific wavelength of energy generated by the Chaos Emeralds, but I am having difficulty ascertaining its exact nature. The energy signature does not match any composition known to G.U.N.’s databases or my own.”

Rouged blew out her cheeks in a sigh. “Alright, let’s see. What have we got so far? No Emeralds, no Eggman, no echidna, and no closer to figuring out what’s happening here,” she added, counting off each item on her fingers before theatrically spinning on her heel to survey their surroundings. “And no Shadow, either. Typical. What _do_ we have so far? Anything?”

Omega said nothing. A few seconds later, his clawed hands retracted into his wrists, a pair of 66mm cannons sprouting in their stead as he trained his sights on the undergrowth a short distance away. 

“Movement detected. South-south east.”

Rouge bit her lip, annoyed at her own carelessness. How had Omega realized they weren’t alone here before she had? 

“Shadow?”

“Negative. Unidentified targets are approaching too slowly.”

Rouge nodded. She was afraid he'd say that, but it made sense. Shadow would run, not walk. 

“Trying to sneak up on us,” she muttered. “How many?”

“I am detecting one heat signature consistent with a warm-blooded organic life form and one low-level magnetic field, indicating the other is mechanoid in nature.”

Rouge didn’t like the sound of that. G.U.N. didn’t have any assets in the area besides them, so two robots would have just meant a couple of Badniks, but if Eggman was here there was only one Badnik that he’d trust to accompany him as a protection detail by itself.

Omega must have had the same thought.

“Missiles armed. First salvo ready to fire.”

“Hold your fire,” she commanded. “Let 'em have it as soon as I tell you, not a second sooner.” 

Omega’s shoulders made a funny little twitching movement, but he said nothing. As much as the robot delighted in escalating any given situation to violence, he wouldn’t disobey a direct order from her or Shadow. 

She could hear the unknowns approaching now, twigs and leaves rustling as they shifted, one set of booted footsteps drawing closer with each passing second.  Rouge tensed, gently flexing her wings as her high heels dug into the ground. Omega was nearly motionless. 

The bushes parted, and Rouge's breath hitched in her throat as a humanoid figure stepped out, followed by the shorter, squatter, semi-humanoid outline of the robot accompanying them. 

“Oh,” the newcomer said, regarding Rouge and Omega with mild surprise. ”It’s just you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> AO - Area of Operations, the area in which a military force operates during a mission  
> DZ - Drop Zone, an area targeted for landing by paratroopers  
> G.U.N. - Guardian Units of Nations, a worldwide peacekeeping task force; the Sonic's World equivalent of NATO  
> SitRep - Situation Report, a report on the current situation in a given area


	7. Just Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An end of the world scenario that threatens more than one world? For the head of the Chaotix Detective Agency, it's just another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place before the events of Chapter 5: Welcome to Station Square. I should hope that's apparent from reading it, but the narrative jumping between different points in the timeline is going to be a recurring theme in this story, so I apologize if it's unclear or confusing.

Vector the Crocodile drummed his fingers against the formica surface of the table, tapping out the beat of a particularly thumping piece of industrial dance music as he waited for his order.

The Station Square Diner was always lively, but never cramped or noisy. Nestled in a heavily populated and culturally diverse urban center, it was great for people-watching, and since the squat, bulky CRT in Vector’s office seldom worked even on the rare occasions when the electric bill had been paid, it was about as close as he could get to watching a soap opera.

Everyone was a character in their own story, even if they didn’t know it. Vector had identified several key players since sitting down and ordering his first coffee. Thanks to the laminated menu’s promise of free refills he was now on his fourth, and had pieced together a complex narrative in the time it had taken him to empty three quarters of the sugar dispenser.

There was the server behind the counter, a blonde-haired human with soft, boyish features that his goofy, old-fashioned paper cap did little to detract from. The mousy-haired young woman next to him wore the same uniform but seemed nervous, unsure of herself as she stammered her way through recited orders and fumbled stacked plates and cutlery. One might think she was new at the job, but she’d actually been working here for quite a while, and was well-liked by the customers for being friendly and talkative. What the oblivious young guy failed to realize was that his coworker had gotten a job here just because she had a crush on him.

The woman in the booth opposite Vector’s had taken her young son out for ice cream, treating him to a sundae stacked high with scoops of vanilla and drenched in hot fudge sauce. Even Vector might have raised an eyebrow at that choice this early in the day, but the kid was anything but spoiled. The sundae was the first peace offering on the road to recovery by a compulsive gambler who’d been giving the slots at Casinopolis the kind of attention she should have been giving her kid.

Then there was the portly, balding man in a brown pinstripe suit, poring over the newspaper while a single slice of dry white toast lay cooling on the plate before him. One could be forgiven for thinking the guy was down on his luck, and being an older gentleman with no access to the internet he’d come here to check the paper for job openings while he ate a cheap and easy breakfast, but Vector’s eye was the eye of a private detective, and the details told a much different story.

The old guy was the owner of a quaint little antiques shop just down the road a stretch, tucked unobtrusively into the rows of storefronts flanking City Hall. It was a small, family-run business that didn’t attract much attention from the tourists, but it had done business well enough to support the owner’s sensible spending habits and the quiet lifestyle that he craved for many years, and would doubtless continue to do so. One look at the man’s figure made it obvious he wasn’t starving, but the unopened packets of jams and spreads that were neatly laid out beside his plate explained his modest meal choice. Toast with jam, jelly or marmalade was a meal of choice, not necessity. It was easier to spread on cool hard toast than soft white bread, and he while enjoyed the crunchy texture of the toast the spreads turned an otherwise boring choice into a sweet treat.

The ornate gold-rimmed watch on his wrist seemed somewhat incongruous too, until you looked closer and realized that the watch itself was an antique; he’d simply had the old leather strap replaced with a new one, which was cheap to do and made a timepiece might have gone for chump change in his own store look like the sort of thing that you might find in a department store with a hefty price tag. His shoes were old-fashioned brogues, but the scuffs they’d picked up over the years were hardly visible beneath the coat of polish that must have been applied as recently as this morning, and had been expertly cobbled, which fit the rest of the picture. They were an old man’s shoes, chosen for comfort and practicality, but stylish in their own old-fashioned way, suitable for a workplace, and it was cheaper to have a pair of old leather shoes resoled than it was to fork out for a brand new pair.    

Surveying the rest of the diner, he saw that most of the staff and patrons were human, but there were a few Mobians too. _Mobian_ meant a humanoid, sapient animal like him, though not necessarily of the same species; it could accurately have been used to describe his co-workers, who were a teenaged chameleon and a juvenile bee respectively. It was a demonym that was still used to describe non-humans long after the name _Mobius_ had fallen out of vogue, and although the inhabitants of the planet had long since agreed upon the name _Earth_ for the world they all shared, _Mobian_ was as inoffensive a term as _human_.

At the counter, a wizened old macaque monkey with a sat alongside a young gray wolf and an adult human, chatting amiably between themselves in a typical display of multiculturalism that Station Square had come to represent. The monkey was nursing a bowl of soup, the dog a bowl of chili, and the human a cup of strong black coffee. The monkey wore a bowler hat, and his walking cane was propped up against the counter; the dog wore a red baseball cap and had a messenger bag slung across his torso. The human wore work boots, jeans, and a hi-visibility jacket, which, along with the helmet on the empty seat next to him, left little doubt as to his employment as a railway worker. Vector could see their lips moving as they chatted, easily picking out the spoken words even though the staccato bass of the track he was listening to drowned out the noise around him.

“I’m telling you, man,” the human was saying. “Things have gotten so much better for us since we unionized. Those corporate fat cats think they can stiff us when we’re the ones working late nights and early mornings, day in and day out, just so their precious trains run on time? Nah. Forget that. We got rights, same as everyone else.”

“Yeah, the wolf agreed. “Yeah, I mean- it’s not like they can afford to lose you guys, right? This place is a tourist trap.”

“Exactly. And you know, more people are taking the train now than before since the highway to Westopolis is out of commission.”

“Yeah, it has been for ages now. You know what I think? I think the government just don’t want to pay out of pocket to get the highway repaired, and they think by squeezing you guys they can still make a profit. I mean, that’s all they care about, isn’t it?”

“Oh, you know it. Times are tough all over, but the tourism industry’s still doing well because people just want to forget their troubles for a little while. I bet the insurance companies have been raking in the dough, too.”

“Isn’t flood insurance run by the government?”

“Uh...I dunno. Is it?”

“Yeah? Yeah, I’m sure it is. My cousin works in the industry. I remember him saying something about it. Like, uh- he said it was too risky to cover stuff like that, so the government pays private companies to sell policies and settle claims and stuff, but when a big disaster gets too expensive, you know, it ends up being the taxpayer who settles the difference.”

“No kidding! No wonder the feds aren’t tripping over themselves to fix the highways.”

“Yeah, and the companies keep, like, a third of the premiums as a fee for running the program.”

“Man, sounds like your cousin’s got the right idea. Any chance he could get me a job?”

“I dunno. He lives on Seaside Island, so I don’t really see a lot of him except at like, Christmas and stuff.”

“Long hours of hard work?” the old monkey repeated, joining the conversation about a minute and a half too late. “Ha! You youngsters don’t know how good you’ve got it. Back in my day, we-”

As the old timer launched into his tirade, Vector’s attention was diverted by the arrival of the waitress, a Mobian manx cat with a mass of brown hair tied back into a voluminous ponytail. He saw her lips form the words _Here’s your order _as she set down a plate, upon which sat his order: an overstuffed monstrosity of a sandwich filled with corned beef, smoked ham, crispy bacon, several different kinds of melted cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and chopped onions, as well as enough ketchup and mayo that the previous three ingredients practically ceased to exist.__

He turned down his music enough that he could make out her voice. He’d embarrassed himself a couple of times in the past by shouting over music that only he could hear, and had resolved never to make that mistake in public ever again.  

“Thanks,” he told her, flashing her a very toothy smile with very little effort. “Looks great.”

“You’re welcome,” the waitress replied, apparently not put off by the rows of razor-sharp teeth and setting down his cutlery with a smile of her own, either lingering under the illusion that he intended to use a knife and fork or simply doing it out of habit. “What you listening to?”

“ _The Light of Hope_ ,” Vector answered loftily. “It’s an ensemble piano, string and orchestral suite composed by Christian G. Senn, as interpreted by conductor Howard Drossin of the Soleanna Symphony Orchestra, a synthesis of classical form and contemporary motifs.”

The waitress smirked. “Liar. I just saw you nodding to the beat.”

 _Broad’s got a mouth on her_ , Vector observed, but since she’d presented him with a sandwich the size of a hubcap prior to the verbal barb he was happy to take it in good humor.

“Touché.” He kept his tone good humored, treating her to another look at his teeth as he smiled again. “That’s a good eye you got there. You ever thought about becoming a detective?”

“What’s the pay like?” the waitress asked, almost surprising him with the quickness of the question. He sucked air through his bared teeth.

“Honestly? Pretty lousy.”

“Well, I’m trying to put myself through college right now so I can’t see that that’s on the cards.”

“You go to school around here?”

“Nah. I'm majoring in Ancient and Historical Technology Studies at ECU.”

The course name wasn’t even the most impressive part of that sentence. “Empire City? That’s a helluva commute.” 

“It’s not so bad,” she remarked dryly. “I take the train. The highways are all out of commission anyway.”

“So I hear.” 

“Surprised you can hear anything with all that noise coming out of your headphones.”

“Hey, it ain’t just noise,” he grunted, sounding a little more defensive than he’d intended to. “It’s got a beat to it. I like my jams loud, yeah, but that don’t mean I just like noise.”

“I get that,” the girl admitted, surprising him again as her grin softened into a much warmer smile. “Quiet makes me go stir crazy, so I can’t be alone with my thoughts, but honestly? I don’t really care for the city. It’s cramped, noisy...dirty.”

“So where’s home for you?”

The girl hesitated for a moment, and Vector briefly wondered if he’d somehow been rude. Perhaps he was being a little nosy, but he’d thought the question was innocent enough. Besides, it was in his nature. He was a detective. If he wasn’t comfortable asking people questions he wouldn’t have solved very many cases.

“Oh, um...Misty Peak Zone,” the waitress said, as though she’d been away for so long that she had to rack her brains to recall the name. It certainly didn’t ring any bells on Vector’s end.

“Misty Peak?” he repeated, enunciating it slowly to make sure he’d not misheard her. “Where’s that? West Side Island?”

The girl glanced to the ceiling, as though searching the specials board for inspiration. “It’s, uh...round that area, yeah. Honestly, like- you could walk through it and miss it. It’s just a sleepy little backwater town- not even really a town, it’s not big enough. More like a village, I guess. My family’s lived there for, like...generations, but now we’re pretty much the only ones, and it’s only really me and my dad now.”

For a moment, he’d briefly thought she was making the place up. Perhaps she was shyer than her quick wit suggested, or mistakenly worried he was some kind of creep who was going to track her down asking for a date ( _Wouldn’t be the first time,_ he thought wryly) but the nostalgia in her voice and the faintly wistful look in her eyes was a tell. If she were really faking homesickness that well, she should’ve been pursuing a career as an actress, not a historian.

“Sounds cozy.” 

“Or lonely,” she pointed out. “My house- well, my dad’s house- it’s big, but it’s just the two of us. Lot of space for just two people.”

She paused, her mouth forming a frown as if she were embarrassed at oversharing. Vector nodded politely, but kept his thoughts to himself.

“I, uh- I should get back to work. It was nice talking to you, though. Enjoy your heart attack,” she added, with a wan smile. Vector didn’t get the joke until she canted her head at the steaming, greasy mess of bread and cholesterol on his plate.

“What- this, right here? Please. This is just a snack. I could polish off this bad boy in one bite.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about the hoagie,” she clarified, and there was that sly little smile again. “I meant the one you’re gonna have when you see the bill.”

“Good one.”

As she turned and headed into the back of the diner, Vector resolved to leave the girl a very generous tip, and throw in one of his business cards for good measure. He’d had a few hundred of them printed for almost the same amount that it had cost to have the same design displayed on a billboard in Central City; a plain black background bisected by white path printed with black footprints, with one print magnified by the simple outline of a large magnifying glass. The card invited the reader to consider the Agency’s slogan:

**_Are You Sure_ **

**_You Want To Know?_ **

The name of the business- the  ** _Chaotix Detective Agency_** \- was stamped below it in smaller print. Minimalist, but very swanky.

On the reverse was the address of their main office in Westopolis, as well as a cell phone number, landline, and E-mail address at which they could be contacted. For reasons unknown even to him, it also included a fax number. Perhaps he’d thought it would sound more professional, but their fax machine didn’t even work any more. After many consecutive months of silence, it had made a sudden and unexpected noise during the middle of the night, and one of his colleagues had hurled a ninja star at it. He’d later claimed it had been a reflex.

Vector raised the sandwich in a two-handed grip, taking a moment to breathe in the smell before tasting it, as though he were some rich guy sampling a particularly fine wine. Droplets of melted cheese and mingling condiments oozed out of the sides and dribbled onto the plate as his fingers compressed the bread like a vice, but before it could reach its final destination he caught a brief flash of something on the TV on the wall behind the counter. He paused, the hoagie halfway to his waiting maw, and called out to the mousy-haired young woman.

“‘Scuse me, miss? You mind turning that up?” 

As the volume increased, the rest of the diner gradually felt silent. Soon the eyes of every worker and patron were fixed on Collie Chang- a Mobian news anchor for the local station, Station Square TV. Dark-haired and curvy, with long lashes and a smooth, lilting voice, Chang seldom had trouble attracting attention from her viewers but for once it seemed that even Vector was more interested in what she had to say than what form-fitting outfit she’d picked today.

“...now go live from our studio to the Emerald Coast, where Scarlet Garcia has more on this story as it develops. Scarlet, what’s it look like from where you’re standing?”

The feed cut to a human reporter, a young woman in a distinctive orange jacket and skirt that might have attracted ridicule if it hadn’t been Scarlet Garcia wearing it. Red-haired and green-eyed, Scarlet had received any number of awards and commendations for the bravery she’d exhibited during her journalistic exploits. For a human, Vector had to admit she wasn’t exactly lacking in the looks department, but it would be unfair to say she was just a pretty face. Whether Station Square was threatened by a nuclear attack, an eldritch monstrosity or an invading race of aliens, Scarlet was always the first on the scene. She was perfectly happy reporting on railway worker strikes or even doing fluff pieces about swimming competitions being hosted at the local Chao Garden, but impending doom was her bread and butter. Collie Chang had looked ostensibly concerned, but it seemed that Scarlet was having trouble even keeping her excitement from showing on her face.

“Thanks, Collie. While no officials have issued any comment so far, the collapse of Angel Island is a source of consternation for many. The events of what historians are now calling the Chaos Incident is still fresh in the mind of many residents I’ve spoken to today, and although the island fell far enough away from the shoreline that tsunamis and earthquakes caused by the impact are not an immediate concern, many here are wondering- or rather, hoping that this doesn’t indicate history is repeating itself again.” 

“And we still don’t know who or what might be responsible for this?”

Scarlet’s smile flickered. The remark had seemed innocent enough, but it was an open secret in the industry that both Collie and Scarlet hated each other. Vector had heard that the network kept offering Scarlet the position of anchor only for her to refuse it every time it came her way; it was unclear whether Collie was just angry because SSTV’s star reporter was a threat to her position as anchor or whether she regarded Scarlet’s refusal to take the position as an insult, but whatever the reason the two reportedly wouldn’t even acknowledge one another outside of televised broadcasts. 

“As _I mentioned already, Collie_ , both G.U.N. and the Eggman Empire have yet to issue any statements,” Scarlet replied, her smile far too stiff to be genuine. “It’s also unclear at this time whether Angel Island’s status as a protected territory will hinder the United Federation’s efforts, if any, to provide-” 

Abruptly, the feed cut back to the studio. Collie Chang wore something approaching a scowl for the fractional moment it took her to realize the cameras were back on her, quickly composing herself as she stammered something about technical difficulties and assured the viewers that they’d have more on the story as it developed before segueing into a story about the President visiting Westopolis.

Vector had heard enough. He set down his sandwich, sucking in his chest as he squeezed his bulk out of the booth and got to his feet.

“I need to make a call,” he told the mousy-haired young woman behind the counter. “You got a phone in this place?” 

“Uh- yeah, sure. It’s right by the restrooms. You just have to wait a few seconds for the dial tone before you put in the number.”

Vector’s gaze followed her pointing finger, but when he lifted the handset there was nothing but silence. After about fifteen seconds, he shook his head. 

“No good. Line’s dead. Anyone got a cell I can borrow?”

The question was directed to the diner at large, but the young wolf at the counter was the first one to answer. “You can use mine-” he began, but his features creased in dawning consternation as he poked at the screen. “Uh...okay. Never mind, I guess. Says I’ve got no service. Weird.”

“Me either,” the recovering gambler piped up, displaying her own phone for the wolf to see. “Which provider are you with? I heard E-Mobile doesn’t get very good service in the United Federation.”

“No, no, I’m with SegaNet. I always have at least four bars when I’m in the city. Always. This like, never happens.”

“Mine’s not working either,” the railway worker chimed in. “I’m with Chaorizon. It’s gotta be a problem with the lines or something.”

“Typical,” the old monkey grunted. “You youngsters cart around all these gadgets and gizmos like your lives depend on them, but when you actually need ‘em, then what happens? Back in my day, we-”

“Mom? Mom, what’s happening?”

The little boy with the sundae was peering out of the window, pointing at something his mother couldn’t see. Vector didn’t like the kid’s tone, or the look on his face. He looked worried, as though he were looking to his mother for reassurance rather than to satisfy his curiosity about something.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’m just trying to get my phone working so the gentleman can-”

“Mom, you’re not looking! Outside! I’m serious, look!”

Vector opened the door and stepped outside. The young wolf and the railroad worker followed, their phones still in their hands. The old monkey had returned his attention his soup, muttering into the bowl and addressing his complaints about the state of modern society to nobody in particular. The antiques shop owner hadn’t shifted from his seat, but was straining to get a look at where the boy was pointing, his plain white toast entirely forgotten.

“Something going down?” the young guy behind the counter asked, calling out to the three with a note of apprehension in his voice. He too seemed more concerned about the growing commotion in the distance than the possibility that any of them were going to dine and dash.

“Yeah, seriously,” the railroad worker reported. “There’s people yelling, and- I dunno, man, it sounds like there’s some kinda riot going on or something. I hear sirens.”

“Your buddies striking again?” the wolf asked innocently.

The human shook his head. “Nah. There's no way. If they were, I would’ve heard about-”

“Get back inside!” Vector snapped. The two turned to look at him, confusion etched on their faces.

“Woah, woah, woah- you wanna ease up on the attitude, pal-”

“I said get back inside! **NOW!** ” 

The last word came out as a roar. Both of them jumped. The wolf was a good foot shorter than Vector and shrank away with his palms held up, but the railroad worker made a valiant effort to recover, squaring up to the crocodile even though the top of his head only reached the croc’s chin.

“Hey! Hey! What the hell’s your problem, man?” 

By way of a response, Vector seized the guy by the shoulders with one enormous hand and used the other hand to indicate a point further down the street. The human’s eyes went wide with terror, as though he were convinced Vector meant to bite his head off; then he saw what Vector was pointing at, and his expression cycled between fear, confusion and disbelief before finally settling on fear again.

"Move!"

Vector all but threw the worker back into the diner, though he needn’t have bothered. The other patrons, sensing that something was clearly wrong but unsure of the context, looked fidgety. The little boy slid out of his seat to squeeze in beside his mother, and the woman pulled him into a hug.

“The doors! Get the doors!”

The blonde-haired guy rushed to assist the railroad worker after a mere moment’s hesitation, spurred by the panicked urgency in his voice, but when Vector seized a vending machine that was taller than he was and wrenched it off of the wall as though it were made of hollow paper-maché, he blanched.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

 “Barricading the door!” Vector grunted, setting the vending machine down with a bang and shoving it into place with his shoulder. “We need to get to the roof! This place got a fire escape or something?”

The blonde guy looked at Vector like he was nuts. “Um- there’s a, uh- a- a skylight in the kitchen!” the mousy-haired young woman stammered, anxious to help in spite of her bewilderment.

“What is it?” the antiques shop owner asked, his tone serious but level. “What’s going on?”

As if in answer, a wall of water surged past the window where he was sitting. Several of the patrons yelped in surprise- though, surprisingly, not the young boy or the antiques shop owner- and rushed to vacate their seats as the glass storefront audibly strained against the weight of the wave, the hulks of several cars drifting idly past like a school of gigantic metal fish.

“That door ain’t gonna hold forever!” Vector barked. “Everyone in the back, now!”

The patrons scrambled to obey his instruction. The mousy-haired woman urged them to hurry while the blonde guy jumped onto one of the stainless steel work surfaces and heaved at the skylight, pounding the edges with the heel of his hand when it didn’t respond to his pushing.

“Stay close to me, sweetie, it’s going to be okay-”

“Come on, come on! Get it open!”

“It’s stuck!”

 “I got it! Get outta the way!”

Vector took the guy’s place, shattering the glass with a single blow from his fist. The frame was large enough for an adult human to fit through, so even his bulky frame wouldn’t be a problem. In the restaurant area, the windows continued to groan audibly. Water was seeping through the cracks in the door and spreading across the floor at an alarming rate.

“Alright, I’m gonna give you a boost! When I lift these guys up, you pull ‘em onto the roof, got it?” 

“Got it!”

The young man stepped into Vector’s cupped hands, hoisting himself onto the roof with ease as the crocodile pushed against his feet. Weighing in at four-hundred and forty pounds, it was no surprise that he was the strongest of anyone present.

“Kid, you go first!” 

“Mom-”

“I’ll be right behind you, honey, just be careful of the glass!” 

The child and his mother went one after the other, followed by the mousy young woman. She was blushing as the blonde guy took her hands in his, and Vector found himself fighting a bizarre urge to laugh as her ears went pink.

“C'mon, old timer! You’re next!”

The old monkey trembled, leaning heavily on his cane while the young wolf steadied him. “I don’t want to be a burden, sonny-”

“We ain’t got time to argue about this, Pops!”

Admittedly, there was little the old geezer could do to stop Vector when the crocodile seized him about the midsection and hoisted him up, one hand clutching his cane while the other held his top hat in place. 

“Easy, easy!”

“It’s okay, I got him!” 

The railway worked gave the wolf a nudge. “Go on, kid! It’s okay!”

“Oh, God bless you, man! Thank you!” the wolf said as he stepped into Vector’s cupped hands. “My name’s Wolfie, by the way!” 

“I’m Travis,” the guy said as the blonde young man lifted him out of sight. “Nice to meet you and all that!” 

“You can add each other on FriendSpace when we’re out of here!” Vector assured him sarcastically, pushing the antiques store owner- the heaviest of all the humans, though not nearly as heavy as him- into the blonde guy’s waiting arms. “That everyone?” 

“Yeah, that’s it!” the railway worker reported. “You wanna go first?”

Vector shook his head. “Nah, nah. I’m the heaviest, and I’m a better swimmer than any one of you. I’ll be okay. Just-”  

He stopped, a horrified sense of dread building in his gut as he did a quick head-count.

_The broad and her kid, the two old geezers, Travis, Wolfie, and two staff behind the counter. We’re missing one. We’re missing-_

“The waitress,” he blurted, his eyes wide with mounting panic. “Where’s the waitress?”

 Travis looked bemused. “Huh?”

“The other waitress, the girl, the- the one with the ponytail!”

“What are you talking about?!” the blonde guy demanded, staring down at him as though he’d just started speaking in tongues. “There’s nobody else working here today!”

“There was another waitress here!”

 “I’m telling you, man, that’s everyone! There’s nobody else but you and me!”

“It can’t be! There was another waitress here, a girl-”

“Dude, there’s no girl!”

“We don’t have time for this-”

A thunderous crashing sound erupted from the front of the restaurant, and the heavy kitchen doors burst open as the force of the breaching water smashed into them, pinning them open as it surged over the bolted-on fixtures and into the kitchen.

“ **GO!** ” Vector bellowed, practically throwing the railway worker again- upwards, this time- a fraction of a second before the water swept him off the counter. 

With nowhere else to go, the current was filling the modest kitchen area like a fish tank, but Vector recovered quickly, gracefully righting himself in the water and peering through it, his head whipping backwards and forwards as he scanned for movement. Being a reptile, he needed to breathe air, but he could hold his breath for up to two hours beneath the surface. The waitress, wherever she was, couldn’t have had anywhere near that long.

His angular green body cut a path through the submerged diner like a submarine as he dived, propelling himself with breast strokes and kicking with his back legs. Both the restrooms were empty, and although the water had dislodged the makeshift barricade the majority of it had poured in through the open windows. He scanned the empty booths, the unmanned counter, the broken windows. Plastic tableware, bits of half-eaten food, waterlogged paper napkins and other detritus tumbled through the murky green void swirling around him.

There was no sign of the waitress. Nor anyone else, for that matter. 

Vector made his way back to the kitchen after five or six minutes of fruitless searching, checking and double-checking and cursing himself all the way, wondering if he was losing his mind but more confused than worried. After all, the other two had seemed insistent. Could he have imagined the whole exchange? It wasn’t like ghosts were even a far-fetched concept to him any more, but a disappearing waitress who only he could remember seeing?

Perhaps not quite as inexplicable was the sudden onslaught of the water, but that  had come right after the news report saying Angel Island dropping out of the sky wasn’t close enough to land to cause any tsunamis. It wasn’t impossible for the media types to get stuff wrong, but his instincts told him there was more going on here than he knew. He just couldn’t put this particular puzzle together until he had all the pieces.

His head breached the water, but the skylight was just out of his reach. “Hey!” he called out to the roof. “Hey, pull me up!”

“You alright, man?”

“What on Earth are you still doing down there?”

”Yo, give me a hand over here!”

That was Wolfie, the antiques shop owner and Travis, but then another voice he didn’t recognize as belonging to any of the patrons spoke out from somewhere he couldn’t see.

“Don’t worry, guys. I’ve got this.”

With that, Vector found himself ascending without the assistance of anything except a gentle turquoise light, cast over his body in a translucent cocoon. As his feet planted on the flat surface of the roof, he saw the patrons huddled together- the mother hugging her young son, the mousy girl guiltily enjoying the comforting embrace of her crush, the old monkey sitting with the antiques shop owner- and there, between Travis and Wolfie, the outline of a familiar figure, a male hedgehog with five large, tufty-looking quills flaring up from his head and a cool cyan glow emanating from his hands.

It was the grayish-white fur shook loose a name from the recesses of Vector’s memory. “Silver!” he said, snapping his fingers as he addressed the hedgehog by name. “You’re Silver, right? You were at Sonic’s birthday party last year, after the whole-”

“The Time Eater thing, yeah.”

“Yeah, and the missing Chao case before that!”

The hedgehog frowned. “Hey, I didn’t have anything to do with that. Well- I mean, I did, technically, but only because I was trying to stop them being used as a food supply for an interdimensional fire demon...uh, thing.”

Vector was silent for a full three seconds.

“...What _?”_

Silver looked about as confused as he felt. “Espio didn’t tell you about that, huh?”

“No, he- wait, you  _know_ Espio?”

 “Yeah, he’s a friend. We worked together when he was on that case. I couldn’t have saved all those poor little creatures without his help.” The cyan rings on his white gloves glowed as he pointed a finger in Vector’s direction. “You’re, uh...Vector, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s me.” Espio must have given him the name, he reasoned. Or perhaps he’d just psychically yanked it from Vector’s mind, but either way the kid seemed like he was on the up and up. “Sorry if I sounded a little suspicious there, pal. I don’t know you all that well, but if you're a friend of Sonic’s you can’t be that bad.”

 Silver flashed him a shy little grin, as if he were about to share a particularly dirty joke and wasn’t sure how it would go down.

“Hey, don’t be so sure. He invited that bat woman to his birthday party too, didn’t he?”

Vector couldn’t quite bring himself to laugh at that, but managed a smile as he extended a hand for Silver to shake. “You’re alright, kid. Thanks for saving my hide back there.” 

The hedgehog made a dismissive gesture with his free hand. “Hey, no problem. I’m just glad I could help. Did everyone else get out okay?”

Vector hesitated, remembering the mystery waitress again before pushing the thought to the back of his mind. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

“Is Espio with you?”

 “No, him and Charmy are- they’re in Westopolis right now, back at the office. Hey, um- not to sound ungrateful or nothing, because God knows I appreciate the help, really, but what exactly are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be from the future, or something like that?”

Silver frowned, his tone almost guiltily. “I am, and I didn’t come here by choice- no offense to your timeline. I mean, your world’s beautiful, but I didn’t come here for sightseeing. I got here through a Genesis Portal.”

“Genesis Portal?” Vector repeated. “What’s one of them when it’s at home?”

 “I’ll show you as soon as we find one,” Silver promised. “I’ve closed about half a dozen of them so far, but there’s got to be more of them around here.”

 “They got something to do with all this?” Vector guessed, gesturing broadly at the waterway below.

 “Yeah, they do. Basically, a Genesis Portal is like- well, it’s a portal that leads from one dimension to another.”

 “So...it’s a door to another world?” 

“Well no, not exactly. A door is something that’s been designed and built by somebody. It’s got a purpose. It’s there for a reason. A Genesis Portal is more like...it’s kind like a wound, almost. A tear in the lining of the multiverse. It seems like they’re naturally occurring, but I still don’t know how or why they keep popping up.”

“So...besides this one, what world are they connected to right now?” 

“That would be mine.” 

A burst of heat coincided with the voice behind him as Blaze descended onto the roof, bathed in an eye-watering aura of flame that made steam curl up from the asphalt surface below her.

“Relax,” Silver told Vector. “She’s a friend of mine. And a friend of Sonic, too.”

“I am Blaze,” the cat said, giving Vector a respectful nod. “Guardian of the Sol Emeralds, proud to count Sonic the Hedgehog among my friends and allies. I believe we met briefly at Sonic’s birthday.” 

“Vector. And yeah, we did.” To his recollection she’d been chatting with Silver, occasionally regarding Vector with scandalized aside glances as he’d wolfed down heapings of cake and chili dogs. _Hard to forget a broad like that, especially when she can shoot fire out of her hands._ “You from the future too?”

“No. I...spent some time there, but my home is an alternate dimension known as the Sol Zone.”

“Lemme guess; you got here through one of these portals when it opened up into our world?”

“No. I was seeking out the Genesis Portals when I came here, but I do not need to utilize them to travel between dimensions. As the regent of my world, I can harness the power of the Sol Emeralds, which are a set of mystical gemstones that serve a similar function to your Chaos Emeralds. They allow me to travel seamlessly between parallel dimensions at will, without damaging the fabric of reality.”

“Well, isn’t that nice for you.”

“Quite,” Blaze said flatly. “But these Genesis Portals pose as much of a threat to my world as yours.”

Vector felt like telling the stuck-up broad to take a long, hard look at the state of the city and think real hard about what she’d just said, but he resisted the temptation. 

“And just how do you figure that, Your Majesty?”

If Blaze could sense the sarcasm in his voice, she deigned to ignore it, casting her gaze out across the flooded streets as if sensing his unspoken thoughts. “Our planets are similar in many ways. We even had an island that floated in the sky before it fell into the ocean, much like your Angel Island, but most of my world is covered in a vast ocean. The Sol Emeralds are...taciturn by nature, but in the past they have warned me of impending danger to my world...and yours.”

“Look, no offense, but I don’t need these Emeralds of yours to tell me that this city’s in trouble right now. I got eyes.”

She met his gaze. “I’m not just talking about this city. I believe that if these Genesis Portals continue to go unchecked, then the oceans of my world will drain into yours until there are no oceans left to drain. I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you how dire the consequences would be for both our worlds if this is allowed to happen.”

“Yeah. I think I got a pretty good idea.” Vector exhaled hard. “Okay. First responders are probably swamped right now- _literally_ \- and there’s no telling how long it’ll take the military to mobilize some kinda response to this. Silver, you said you can close these portals, right?”

Silver nodded. “Yeah. I can use my telekinetic powers to manipulate certain kinds of energy, which lets me stabilize the Genesis Portals long enough to-”

Vector held up a palm to silence him.

“Just a yes would’ve done fine, kid. Long as you can close ‘em off, I don’t gotta know the specifics. Right now, our immediate priority is getting these people and any others that we find to safety, but we can look for more Genesis Portals while we search for survivors. You got any idea where to start?”

“Excuse me, but when exactly was it decided that you were in charge of our efforts here?”

Vector’s lips peeled back from his teeth in the beginnings of a snarl, but Silver spoke up before he could, answering the Blaze’s rather waspish question for him.

“Think about it, Blaze. We’re both strangers here. You’re not even from this world, and I’m pretty sure that even if this city exists in my future it doesn’t look like this. This is Vector’s home. That puts him at an advantage. We can’t afford to waste time getting our bearings when there’s innocent people that need our help.”

Vector could have pointed out that he wasn't actually from Station Square- he was merely visiting from Westopolis- but given how succinct Silver's response had been, he didn't want to undermine it. Blaze looked ready to argue for a moment, then apparently thought better of it.

“You’re right,” she admitted with a quiet sigh. “Please forgive my short-sightedness. I will do whatever I can to help.”

The display of humility immediately quashed Vector’s irritation. “Hey, don’t sweat it. We got a time-traveling psychic, a princess who can control flames, and a world-class detective with brains and brawn to spare. Long as we work together, all our worlds are as good as saved, right?”

Silver was tempted to point out that he was telekinetic, not a psychic, but as he and Blaze met one another’s gaze they shared a wordless exchange that may as well have been telepathic, for it was clear to both of them what the other was thinking. 

_Definitely a friend of Sonic._


	8. This Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fate of the world hinges on the success of Royce's mission, but his actions may have already set in motion the downfall of The Resistance's last remaining stronghold.

Royce crouched in the dull red glare of the robot’s gaze, rooted to the spot by terror and disbelief. His brain grappled with the impossibility of what his eyes were relaying to him, terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought but still vainly wondering how it could be here. Angel Island was thousands of kilometers away from South Island, thousands of feet above the planet’s surface. How could it have followed him this far? How could it have found him?

For a few moments the automaton simply stood in silence, as motionless as he was. Its eyes seemed almost to be mocking him, gazing down at him with all the contempt its otherwise featureless box of a head could muster, and only after it had granted him a few seconds to bask in the cruel futility of his despair did it move. Its servos whirred as it raised a clawed foot and brought it down, chunks of the ruined wall crunching underfoot as it advanced. It took one slow, deliberate step towards him, followed by another, and then another. Its arms remained by its sides, not unlike the SWATbot that he’d blindsided in the Mushroom Hill Zone. It seemed content that he’d accepted the inevitability of his death, and now that its objective was in sight it saw no point in hurrying.

Except...it wasn’t looking at him at all. The lenses of its eyes were fixed on the ground, focusing on something a little past his shoulder. His head whipped around, and with a jolt he realized that he’d lost his grip on the Chaos Emerald during the explosion that had knocked him down. It handed landed in the rubble a few feet away from where Dagger had fallen, its flawless sheen and faint green glow a beacon amongst the gray-brown dust and dirt of its surroundings.

His gloved fingers closed around the Emerald, and the Badnik’s gaze shifted. Now it was unmistakably staring at him.

A sudden bark of automatic gunfire shook Royce from his reverie. Spent shell casings cascaded to the ground in a shower of smoking brass as the thirty-round magazine of an assault rifle emptied its contents into the Badnik’s back. The robot kept walking, unfettered. It didn’t even react when the lull in the gunfire was broken by a yell from Apollo.

“Kid, get out of there!”

The fox’s cry was punctuated with a clatter as his spent magazine joined the casings of the wasted bullets it had once held. He rammed another magazine into the receiver, racked the charging handle and began firing in bursts, training his sights on the robot’s head. Ricochets gouged the walls and ceiling, the harsh report of the gunfire echoing down the tunnel.

Royce hesitated, half-crouching as his gaze went from his escape route to the prone body of the walrus laying half-covered by the wreckage of the base’s hidden entrance. “Dagger’s down, I don’t-”

“Dagger’s gone! Leave him! Just take the Emerald and go! Run!”

Thirty rounds became zero, and the rifle dry-clicked again. Apollo slapped a hand to his vest, fumbling for a fresh magazine and finding none, then let out a snarl of frustration that became a battle cry as he swung the useless rifle like a club, aiming for the Badnik’s head. The rifle’s buttstock bounced off its boxy head with a resounding clang, and the robot halted in its tracks. Its head swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees, staring at Apollo for a couple of seconds before its body followed suit, as though it couldn’t quite believe the fox’s audacity.

Apollo swung the rifle again, and one of the robot’s clawed hands intercepted it with a quickness that Royce wouldn’t have thought possible for something that walked so slowly. The fox could only stare dumbfounded as its thick fingers squeezed the rifle’s handguard, crushing it like it was made of cardboard. Its other hand swung upwards in a vicious uppercut and the blow caught Apollo full in the face, lifting him off his feet and launching him backwards. The Badnik had swiveled to face Royce before Apollo had even hit the ground, standing motionless for a few seconds as if gauging his reaction to the display; then its legs turned until they were parallel with its torso, and it resumed its advance towards him.

_Go! Run!_

Fire lanced up Royce’s abdomen as he tried to get to his feet. Shock had numbed the pain somewhat, but the explosion throwing him off his feet and showering him with chunks of stone hadn’t done him any more good than the tumble down that slope in the Mushroom Hill Zone had. He staggered backwards, his breath coming in panicked, wheezing gasps that stung his throat and lungs as they drew in the dust and ash still clouding in the narrow confines of the tunnel, willing his legs to cooperate with his brain’s commands to move.

A harsh, sharp crack of a gunshot rang out from behind the Badnik, followed almost immediately by the tinkle of a single shell casing hitting the ground. The robot stopped again, staring at Royce for a second before turning, almost quizzically, to investigate the source of the noise. It hadn’t even registered the impact of the small-caliber handgun round impacting its chassis, but the sight of Apollo propped up against the wall with a pistol in his hand gave it pause.

“Go,” the fox grunted, ignoring the Badnik and addressing Royce directly. “Don’t look back, just go!”

Apollo squeezed the trigger again, then twice more. Royce could have told him that it was pointless, but he recognized the futility of the gesture as well as Royce did. Both of them knew what this was, and Royce felt a great swell of remorse, for just as he would never get to thank Shadow for his bravery, nor he would ever be able to thank Apollo.

Royce did as he was bade, taking off at a lopsided run as three more shots rang out from behind him. Two more followed it, and with the magazine emptied Apollo let the now-useless pistol fall into his lap. The Badnik stomped towards him, his lips forming a sneer as he hocked a wad of spit at it.

“Kiss my ass, metal-face.”

Red-tinged saliva dribbled sluggishly down the robot’s armor. Its fingers retracted into one of its studded gauntlets with a metallic whirr of moving parts, and the space where its hand used to be expanded into a wide-bore cannon.

Even as the yawning black abyss of the muzzle leveled before his eyes, the fox didn’t flinch. A wave of blistering heat washed over him, and it was only in the split-second where he saw the orange glow building in the weapon’s throat that he realized it wasn’t a cannon at all.

It was a flamethrower.

Apollo’s screams chased Royce deeper into the Hidden Palace Zone, ricocheting between the acoustics of the ancient stonework and boring into his skull like a jackhammer, turning his blood to ice water. The floor of the tunnel was littered with chips of obsidian that crunched and crackled as his boots came down on them; great chunks of it sprouted from the walls and ceiling, and explosion at the entrance had shaken a few of them loose.

The passageway opened up into a dimly-lit cavern of blue granite, partitioned by pillars of untreated amethyst that had been fashioned into rounded support columns by the ancients who had built this place. Exposure to sunlight would have bleached the purple-tinted quartz white, but being this deep underground meant that the Hidden Palace Zone had retained its technicolor brilliance even after the Resistance had fashioned it into a military base. Stacked in piles around the support columns, the dull sheen of the metal supply crates and lumpy piles of sandbags seemed somewhat incongruous against the opulence of their surroundings, but there was a perceptibly brutalist slant to the grandeur.

The echidnas that had built this place were warriors. The Hidden Palace Zone was as as much a fortress as it was a place of worship. It had taken a war against life itself to unite the planet against a common enemy, but in times long since past wars had been fought over things that seemed abstract and metaphysical now.  Money, politics, religion. Divisions over such things had no place in a world where your very existence was an affront to the enemy they all now shared, but although the echidnas were gone Royce found himself hoping that whatever gods they’d worshiped would lend him whatever blessings they could spare- provided they’d not abandoned this place already. Given the state of the world below, he wouldn’t be surprised.

Two Mobian bears had taken up defensive positions by the mouth of the tunnel, hunched behind a crude, hastily-stacked wall of sandbags that barely shielded their huge frames; both of them must have been at least six foot six and almost as broad as they were tall. One was top-heavy, with burly shoulders and tree trunk-thick arms exploding out the top of his overalls, while the other simply wore a tactical vest which he couldn’t quite close no matter how much of his gut he sucked in.

The sight of them actually made Royce feel a little better. Even prior to the official formation of the Resistance, "Mad" Mike Donovan and "Big Griz" Tickner had been legends in their own right. Tales of the duo’s daring attacks on the Empire's weapon factories and raids on supply trains in transit had formed the bulk of the Resistance’s propaganda campaign long after most of the planet's esrtwhile Freedom Fighters had been memorialized in casualty reports, and heroes were as precious of a resource as clean drinking water to an army that was mainly made up of refugees and scavengers.

Times changed, but war didn’t. Soldiers had always needed heroes to inspire them, and just like any other resource heroes were in precious short supply these days. Milton Machopper was officially listed as Missing In Action, but intelligence from the Red Outback Zone suggested that he’d actually been captured while trying to free prisoners from an internment camp. With the line between prisoner of war and casualty of war blurred practically to the point of nonexistence, it was likely that the bears were the only two people left on the planet who’d ever met Sonic the Hedgehog.

“Friendly!” Royce called out hoarsely, trying to ignore the sensation of napalm in his throat. “Friendly!”

“It’s one of ours!”

The bears lowered their weapons. Both of them were armed with heavy machine guns, the kind you’d expect to see mounted on a tank, but Mad Mike’s hung by his side in a one-handed grip like a pistol as he straightened up. Big Griz kept his at hip-level, but with the barrel angled safely away from Royce and his finger laid flat against the receiver.

“Jeez, buddy,” Big Griz remarked, his underbite forming a lopsided but not unkind smile. “You was about half a pound of trigger pressure away from becoming a friendly fire incident there.”

“You hit?” Mad Mike asked, giving Royce a once-over before peering at the tunnel behind him. “Where’s the rest of your squad at?”

He shook his head at both questions, buying a couple of seconds for his strained lungs to recover.

“I’m it,” he managed.

“Apollo and Dagger not with you?”

“We been trying to raise ‘em on the radio, but-”

Royce gave another short, sharp shake of his head. “Gone. They’re gone.”

Big Griz looked stricken. Mad Mike looked murderous, even for a six-foot tall bear carrying a machine gun.

“What? No. No way.”

“How? What happened?”

Before Royce could answer, Big Griz shouldered his weapon and racked the charging handle.

“Yo! Contact front!”

Heavy footfalls echoed through the tunnel Royce had come from, twin red pinpricks of light slowly expanding as the Badnik’s bulky outline grew larger. Mad Mike’s prominent snout ran parallel to his machine gun’s horizontal barrel as he trained the weapon’s sights on the tunnel.

“Call targets, bro! I’m only seeing one!”

“That’s it!” Royce blurted, a sudden jolt of dread tripping the words as they scrambled to his mouth. “That’s- that’s the one that killed Apollo and Dagger! It’s some kind of Super Badnik!”

“Is that a fact?” Mad Mike snarled, his thick fingers flexing around the machine gun’s heat shield. “Yo, Griz. You mind if I do the honors?”

“Fire at will, Mike. Light that sucker up.”

Big Griz motioned for Royce to get behind cover as his partner opened fire. The muzzle flashes of Mad Mike’s weapon cast a harsh, flickering light over his vengeful features as he hosed the approaching Badnik down, sparks erupting from the robot’s armor as the rounds found their mark, the tinkle of spent shell casings bouncing off the stone floor punctuated by the metallic chatter of the machine gun.

The Badnik didn’t break stride even as Big Griz joined in. The bears’ combined fields of fire blended into a destructive storm of hot lead, turning the mouth of the tunnel into a five foot square killzone, but the Badnik was stomping through it as as though the heavy 7.62mm rounds were nothing so consequential as a cloud of gnats.

...No, that wasn’t right. A person might raise their hand to swat away an irritating swarm of insects, or even a single insect, but the Badnik’s posture was rigid from the waist up. Its arms had returned to its sides, its weapons replaced once again by those wickedly clawed hands, and it was approaching with the measured stride of a soldier on a parade ground rather than one in the middle of a combat zone.

“It ain’t stopping!” Mad Mike bellowed, sounding more frustrated than concerned even though the Badnik was less than ten feet away from him. The machine gun had sucked up and spat out nearly the entire belt of ammunition in its box magazine, and sustained fire point-blank range was no more effective than the short, controlled bursts that Big Griz had been letting off.

“Mike, get out of there, man! Fall back!”

The muzzle flashes lit up Badnik’s armor, rounds noisily impacting its chassis without so much as denting it. Mad Mike backpedalled, still firing, and bumped into the stacked sandbags he’d previously been using for cover. The Badnik didn’t stop. Ten feet became five feet, and then at two feet from him the robot simply lashed out, swatting the machine gun out of the bear’s hands like it was made of cardboard.

Mad Mike reacted quickly, swinging a punch with a fist the size of a bowling ball, but the Badnik was somehow even quicker, intercepting the punch just as it had intercepted the second swing of Apollo’s rifle. The bear’s eyes widened in shock, and Royce heard the crackle and pop of splintering bone a split-second before a scream tore its way out of Mad Mike’s open mouth. The wickedly sharp claws were squeezing, crushing, as as thick as the bear’s own fingers and as powerful as a hydraulic press. His legs buckled, his other fist hammering ineffectually at the robot’s arm and body as he vainly tried to break its grip. The blows were powerful enough to shatter boulders, but the Badnik didn’t so much as flinch at the impacts.

Mad Mike screamed louder. Big Griz was screaming too, yelling his partner’s name. Mad Mike’s huge bulk was blocking Big Griz’s target. He didn’t have a shot. There was nothing he or Royce could do but watch in horror as the fingers of the robot’s other hand seized Mad Mike around the throat, crushing his windpipe as easily as the bones in his hand.

Mad Mike stopped screaming. His body twitched once and then went limp, like one of those giant teddy bears they used to sell around Valentine’s Day. His limbs slackened just before the Badnik’s grip did and he slumped to the ground, his head lolling at an impossible angle, eyes and mouth still wide open.

Big Griz launched himself at the Badnik, his tree-trunk thick arms battering it with a flurry of blows so powerful that it actually staggered from the impact. His panicked shouts had become howls of fury, and Royce could make out some of the words between the impacts.

”- _KILL YOU- GONNA KILL YOU- PIECE OF_ -“

Big Griz’s features were contorted, tears streaming down the creases of his squarish face as he bawled like a baby- a six-foot, six-hundred pound baby who also happened to be a grizzly bear. His fists rocked the Badnik’s chassis with thunderous impacts that sounded like someone taking a sledgehammer to the hood of a car, and for a moment Royce dared to hope that he might succeed where Shadow, Apollo, and Mad Mike had failed.

_That’s it, come on, just keep it off-balance-_

He didn’t hear the faint whirr of the robot drawing one of its arms back, but as it plunged its fist into the center of Big Griz’s mass his roars were suddenly cut off. The bear grunted, made a strained gasping sound, twitched, then snarled through his teeth and gripped the robot by its shoulders, his arms pulling in tandem as though he meant to rip it in half.

The Badnik responded by unloading one of its miniguns. It only fired a short burst, but at that range the rounds only had one place to go.

Big Griz toppled backwards. Tendrils of smoke rose from his body as the smell of singed fur hit Royce’s nostrils.

The robot’s head canopy swiveled, and then its eyes fixed on his position again. Royce tensed, torn between two possibilities that both led to imminent death. The miniguns could easily vaporize his cover and him with it, but if he ran it would surely just shoot him in the back.

Then the Badnik’s minigun retracted into its arm again, and Royce barely had time to question what was happening before it started marching towards him again. He took off at a run, expecting to hear the roar of the miniguns a split-second before a stream of incoming fire sawed him in half, but none came.

_Why isn’t it firing? It had me dead to rights. Why didn’t it just kill me?_

He dared not even glance back over his shoulder for fear that the spell would be broken. The verdigris tiles of the floor ahead rose sharply into a flight of steps, each one at least four feet above the one below it. Presumably, the echidnas had built them to slow invading forces down while giving the defenders the advantage of having the high ground. Royce knew it wouldn’t slow the flight-capable robot down for long, but he still wasted no time in scrambling up them. He was still thanking genetics for his natural agility as he reached the top, sprinting for the next set of stairs at the other end of the landing without so much as a glance behind him. He could judge how far the Badnik was from him by ear alone; there was no need to waste precious time looking back when he could tell that it hadn’t reached the first set of stairs.

Mercifully, it hadn’t activated its jet boosters either. Perhaps it couldn’t maneuver as well in enclosed spaces, but that didn’t explain why it hadn’t just gunned him down when it had the chance. Was it just toying with him? Did its computer brain have the capacity for such deliberate sadism? Even if it were capable of violating its prime directive- the destruction of any who opposed the Empire- why would it choose to? 

“Royce, up here!”

His gaze darted upwards. The voice had come from a walkway above him, and he recognized it as belonging to-

“Carlos!”

The figure he was addressing was a Mobian jackal wearing the same olive drab fatigues, boots and gloves as him, the unofficial uniform of an army that wasn’t an army any longer. An assault rifle that looked like it belonged in a museum was tucked under his arm; the weapon’s wooden furniture was weathered with age, its receiver fashioned from metal rather than the lightweight polymers that had been popular back when guns were still being produced in factories rather than cobbled together from spare parts. As if to complete the ensemble, a spare magazine was fastened “jungle style” to the one that had already been loaded into the weapon, a few lengths of tape standing in for a metal clamp.

“We don’t have much time,” Carlos called down. He tossed something shiny over the edge of the walkway, and it spun end over end before stopping a few inches from Royce’s face, suspended in the air by a stream of gently twinkling lights. “You know how to use one of these?”

Royce nodded hesitantly. The object was a golden Ring, about the same size as the ones that could once be found in the Green Hill or Sugar Splash Zone. However, rather than hanging in the air of its own accord it was linked to one that Carlos was holding by the tether of energy. He’d trained with them before; he’d just never actually used one.

 _First time for everything._ He took a few steps backwards, digging his heels in while Carlos did the same, pulling the tether taut like a rubber band before allowing it to snap, launching him upwards. His feet landed on the precipice of the platform and Carlos caught his other hand, hoisting him away from the edge.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m not hit.”

“You have the Emerald?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Shadow?”

Royce shook his head. “We were attacked. There was this Badnik, some kind of elite unit- he used the Emerald to transport me here, but it followed me here somehow.”

Carlos stiffened. “What kind of Badnik?”

“Not like any kind of Badnik I've ever come across. Heavily armed and armored. It killed Apollo, Dagger, Mad Mike, Big Griz...and Shadow,” he added grimly.

“What did it look like?” Carlos pressed. Royce wished he was surprised or even a little repulsed by the jackal’s apparent lack of remorse over Shadow’s passing, but he was too exhausted to even spare the energy for indignation.

“Uh...bipedal. Boxy. Kind of humanoid. Black and red armor. Twin miniguns. It looked kind of like Gemini, but...bulkier. Shorter. It’s slow on foot, but flight-capable.”

A grim familiarity flickered across the jackal’s features as Royce spoke, as though he were recalling an unpleasant memory. The momentary change in his expression didn’t go unnoticed by Royce.

“We need to move,” Carlos said, motioning for Royce to follow him. “It’ll be here any second.”

“Wait, stop. Hold on. What are you not telling me?”

“We don’t have time for this-” Carlos began dismissively, but drew up short when Royce stood his ground, jabbing an accusing finger in his direction.

“No!” he half-shouted. “Don’t do this! People are dead, Carlos! You kept me in the dark about Shadow and now he’s dead! We've lost four of our own because they didn’t know what they were dealing with! Tell me what you know, and the hell with OPSEC! I’m not interested in clearance or authorization or whatever kind of-”

“Royce.”

Carlos drew his sidearm- a pistol that looked as ancient and beat-up as the rifle in the crook of his arm- from its holster, turning it deftly in his hand and holding it towards him. For a moment he hesitated, and then his fingers closed around the grip, uncomfortably aware that the muzzle was inches from Carlos’ stomach. He looked down at it, then back up at Carlos. The jackal didn’t so much as blink.

“I promise I’ll explain everything later, but right now there’s no time. We have to go, _now_.”

Carlos relinquished his grip on the pistol. Royce was the first one to break eye contact, checking the slide of the weapon and ejecting the magazine.

Seven rounds, plus one in the chamber. It wasn't much, but it was something.

“This isn’t over, Carlos.”

 _No_ , Carlos thought.  _Not by a damn sight, it isn’t._


	9. Work It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected encounter forces Team Dark to broaden their search for Knuckles and the Master Emerald.

“What exactly are you two doing here?”

The speaker’s accent was expensively educated, her tone clipped and more than a shade accusatory in a way that reminded Rouge of a school teacher. The _pince-nez_ glasses she was peering over the top of at them only served to complete the image, although the rest of her attire was more practical than fancy. A light brown jacket, gloves in the same color, and a pair of hiking boots that looked sturdy and comfortable. No weapon that Rouge could see, no tell-tale bulge of a shoulder holster beneath her jacket or sidearm holstered on her hip, but she did have a backpack.

Omega’s head canopy swiveled in Rouge’s direction, and not for the first time the bat found she was impressed at how the robot could convey such a broad range of emotions with only a pair of red lights sticking out of a lightly armored visual processing unit.

Omega looked surprised, suspicious, and a little taken aback all at once. Rouge supposed she must not have looked much different, and wondered briefly if Omega ever had trouble interpreting her own expressions before realizing that the likelihood was he just didn’t care.

To say that Omega was cold and dispassionate would be unfair, because as robots went, he was astonishingly like a person in the range of emotions that he displayed. His artificial personality could emulate murderous rage or glee depending on his logic center’s interpretation of what the circumstances warranted, and he’d even identified Team Dark as his friends on occasion. He held most organic beings in a regard that trod a fine line between contempt and indifference, but while he seemed to grapple with the exact nature of friendship, he cared for Shadow and Rouge in his own way. They had proven their worth to him as allies, but their own combat capabilities were vastly inferior to his own, and so his artificial mind had conflated this into his understanding of what friendship was: they were both assets that could prove useful to him and also charges that needed to be protected.

His idea of how to deal with threats was far more succinct, and required far less contemplation on his part. The only reason the mousy-looking female Mobian and the little robot accompanying her hadn’t been obliterated was because Omega, like Rouge, was too confused to decide on an appropriate course of action.

“Do you know where Knuckles has gotten to?” the young woman asked, taking their silence as a cue to try a different line of questioning. “Or where the Master Emerald is, for that matter?”

This was, Rouge reflected, getting weirder by the second.

“And just who are you supposed to be? His girlfriend?”

The female Mobian gave a snort of ostensible disgust that didn’t quite manage to distract Rouge from the flicker of embarrassment crossing her features.

“Oh, do grow up,” she snapped, a little tinge of pink rising in her cheeks. “You already made that joke the first time we met and it hasn’t become the slightest bit more amusing since.”

Rouge blinked. “I’m sorry- ‘the last time’? Do we know each other?”

The young woman folded her arms across her chest. “This is hardly the time to be making jokes, you know. The Master Emerald is gone, Knuckles is nowhere to be-”

“Who’s joking?” Rouge interrupted. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

The female Mobian looked annoyed, which Rouge wouldn’t have considered an altogether appropriate response to encountering two thirds of Team Dark on an otherwise deserted island. Neither she nor the little robot hovering beside her looked particularly threatening, but Rouge of all people could attest that there was merit to not judging books by their covers. To the casual observer, Dr. Eggman was just a fat guy with a funny mustache and funny little glasses who really liked the sound of his own voice, but Rouge had witnessed him make concerted attempts to murder children. Just because this book looked particularly bookish didn’t mean she wasn‘t a threat; it could just have meant she was a good actor.

“Now really, that’s quite enough messing about! You can’t possibly have forgotten our last meeting, although I imagine it would have been rather more pleasant for both of us.”

“I guess you’re just not that memorable,” Rouge replied airily, but she didn’t feel as relaxed as she looked. She was a spy. She wasn’t in the habit of making herself known to anyone who didn’t have any business knowing her, and the fact that this bookworm had her at a disadvantage wasn’t just embarrassing. For someone in her line of work, it was dangerous.

Beside her, Omega shifted slightly. Rouge gave him a sharp look, and shook her head slightly as his gaze swiveled in her direction. The Soleanna Convention had some very specific things to say about the targeting of unarmed civilians by military organizations; just because someone made you uncomfortable didn’t give you the right to shoot them, and given G.U.N.’s track record Rouge would sooner take her chances with a court martial than explain to Shadow why she’d allowed Omega to smoke a noncombatant.

A flash of light announced Shadow’s return a split-second before he materialized a few feet away from them. The female Mobian seemed a little startled, but quickly recovered. If anything, she seemed reassured by his appearance.

“Ah, Shadow,” she said, as though she’d just bumped into him at a dinner party and was about to offer him a plate of _hors d'oeuvres_. “Pardon my frankness, but would you care to explain precisely what it is you’re doing here?”

Shadow glanced at Rouge, caught the look on her face, then returned his attention to the female Mobian. He did not look impressed that she knew his name.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “Where’s Knuckles?”

“Would you please be serious?” the female Mobian responded, sounding as snippy as he did. “I haven’t the faintest idea where Knuckles is! As a matter of fact, I asked Rouge the same thing, but I haven’t been able to get a straight answer from her!”

Rouge spread her arms in a broad shrug. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know her from a bar of soap.”

“Then how is it that she’s on a first-name basis with us?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” the female Mobian groaned, massaging her temple with two fingers as if to allay a bad migraine. “Is this some sort of joke that I’m not privy to?”

Shadow glared. “Do I look like I’m laughing?”

“Well, to be perfectly blunt, you look about as cheerful as the last time I saw you- which is to say not at all, considering you’d just gone three rounds with Knuckles and the Master Emerald was stolen while you two were rolling about in the mud like a couple of schoolboys.”

Silence descended, and for a moment Team Dark simply exchanged looks of bewilderment.

“What is she babbling about?”

“Beats me,” Rouge said flatly. “Any insight you’d care to offer, Big Guy?”

Omega hadn’t lowered his weapons. In fact, he’d been uncharacteristically still and quiet since the two unknowns had first popped up in his sights. Rouge was impressed at his restraint, but she knew that he was still waiting for an excuse to unload on them. He’d been expecting a fight ever since they’d first been dispatched here, and she suspected he was getting antsy.

“Cross-referencing facial and retinal scans with internal memory files...negative. Subject not recognized. Cross-referencing with files on G.U.N. databases...negative. Subject not recognized.” Omega turned his attention to the little robot, and Rouge could have sworn she heard something almost like a sneer in his computerized voice. “Cross-referencing design of smaller, inferior model with known Eggman Empire, G.U.N. and MeteorTech assets...negative. Subject not recognized. Observations: unit appears to be unarmed, lightly armored and utilizing outdated hover technology not consistent with any military force on record.”

The Mobian woman looked almost offended by the assessment, moving to position herself between Omega and the robot as though she were worried he’d hurt its feelings. Rouge saw Omega twitch at the motion, but the female Mobian either didn’t notice or did a fantastic job pretending she hadn’t.  

“That’s because Fixit isn’t a combat robot, as you very well know! He was built to fix things, not destroy them!”

“Noted. Contempt level increased accordingly. Conclusion: both subjects anomalous. Estimated threat level: low to none. Recommended course of action: interrogation of anomalous meatbag to be conducted after interment. Analysis of puny model’s wreckage to be conducted by G.U.N. scientists after unit’s destruction.”

“I really don’t think there’s any need for violence,” the little robot piped up. Like Omega, its voice was synthesized, masculine, but it had the same kind of plummy accent as the Mobian woman. It also sounded distinctly nervous about Omega’s announced intention to destroy it.

“Why, you great clanking brute!” the young woman cried, tapping the air before Omega with a rapid-fire motion of her index finger. “I don’t care whose authority you think you’re here on or what silly game you think you’re playing, you hear? Angel Island is a protected territory and we are here on a sanctioned expedition! You have no right to accost us like this, no right whatsoever, and if you so much as lay a hand on either of us, I’ll- I’ll be very cross indeed!” she proclaimed, her outburst sputtering to a halt in such a way that suggested she’d realized about midway through that she had no means of defending herself against Omega.

Somehow, that thought made Rouge feel a little better.

“Observation: I do not need to use my hands to destroy the inferior model. My maximum effective firing range is-“

Shadow stepped forward, placing himself between the business end of Omega’s twin miniguns and the Mobian woman, who was still vainly trying to shield the little robot- Fixit, she’d called it- with her own body.

“Leave it alone, Omega. You said yourself it’s no threat to us.”

“Both the meatbag and the inferior model are anomalous,” Omega insisted. “Logic dictates that any anomaly is a potential threat. Threats must be rectified with firepower.”

“If either of them are stupid enough to try anything then the three of us will be able to handle it,” Shadow replied, casting a glance back over his shoulder. His tone made it clear the observation wasn’t a threat so much as a warning, but it seemed to satisfy Omega; the faint whirring of his servos as he shifted indicated that he had relaxed slightly.

Fixit peeked out from behind the young woman’s slender torso. “Mr. Shadow, sir, I assure you I have no intention of ‘trying anything’, within the assumed definition of attempting subterfuge or hostilities. My primary function is repair and maintenance, but I am merely here to assist Madam Relic and your good selves in any way I can.”

Relic, Rouge guessed, had to be the woman’s name. Another crucial piece of intel. Presumably the _Madam_ part was simply an affectation of the robot’s personality simulation, which appeared to be modeled on a butler for some reason.

Shadow folded his arms across the tuft of white fur on his chest. “You can start by telling us where Knuckles is.”

Fixit endeavored to look embarrassed. “I’m afraid I haven’t any idea where Guardian Knuckles is at present, sir.”

“Then can you help us find him?”

“That...may be beyond my capabilities, sir,” Fixit admitted, each word carefully measured as if he were worried Shadow might rescind his order for Omega to stand down. “Erm...would you care for a cup of tea in the meantime?”

“No,” Shadow said automatically.

“What kind of tea do you have?” Rouge asked, curious in spite of herself.

“Well, I have green tea from Adabat, red tea from Shamar, violet tea from Holoska-“

“No,” Shadow repeated.

“...Perhaps a nice cup of lapsang souchong-?”

“ _No_.”

The robot clasped his three-fingered hands together. “Very well, sir. I’ll keep my boiling vessel on standby in case you change your mind.”

“Observation: boiling water has the potential to cause harm to organic life forms-”

“Drop it, Omega.”

“Second observation: you never let me have any fun.”

“Excuse me!” Relic piped up, with the kind of polite indignation that comes from someone who has to keep privately reassuring themselves that they have a right to be angry so as not to let themselves be embarrassed that they’re being rude. “I do beg your pardon, but you still haven’t explained what business you have being here, besides looking for Knuckles- which, frankly, I’m disinclined to believe the military would have such a care about!”

“And you still haven’t explained how you know us when none of us can ever remember meeting you before,” Rouge retorted. She didn’t care for Relic’s tone, and judging by his expression Shadow didn’t either.

“We’re here on G.U.N.’s say-so,” the hedgehog said curtly. “You said yourself that Angel Island is a protected territory, so what’s your excuse?”

“We’ve no need for an excuse!” Relic replied loftily. “We’re on an archaeological expedition funded by the University of Spagonia- and with Knuckles’ permission, thank you very much- analyzing soil samples in the Marble Garden Zone, examining geodes from Lava Reef, all very delicate work, you know, and the academic implications-“

“Get to the point,” Shadow ordered, and Rouge smirked as the archaeologist faltered once again.

“Well...we were in the Mushroom Hill Zone when Fixit detected an energy surge of some sort,” she explained. “We thought it best to come and investigate, and that was when we ran you.”

Rouge and Omega shared a look. Shadow didn’t take his eyes off Relic.

“What kind of energy?”

“I don’t know. It was a wavelength that he didn’t recognize, and not one that his sensors were able to positively identify. He’s usually very good at that sort of thing,” she added, a touch defensively. “He’s been ever so helpful since I first found him.”

It seemed to Rouge that Fixit was pleased by the praise, although it was admittedly difficult for her to tell.

“If I may, ma’am?” the robot chimed in, raising a three-fingered hand as though asking permission from the teacher to contribute to a class discussion. “There were several surges, actually. My sensors indicated a spike from the Sky Sanctuary Zone, as well as additional spikes from the Lava Reef Zone and two separate locations within Mystic Ruins. Triangulation of the coordinates led me to the conclusion that the focal point was here, at the altar of the Master Emerald.”

“Your assessment is only partially correct,” Omega asserted. “My own, vastly superior sensors indicated that the energy spike originated from these coordinates, but the point of origin is below the surface. Perhaps if you had a functional altimeter, you would not have needed me to tell you this.”

Shadow’s features shifted, his expression slowly changing from stunned to angry. Rouge bit her lip.

“And you didn’t think this information was worth sharing with us?” the hedgehog said slowly.

Rouge examined the back of her glove, deliberately avoiding Shadow’s accusing red eyes. Omega paused, his head canopy swiveling as he looked between the bat and the hedgehog.

“Not really,” the robot responded after a moment’s consideration.

Rouge looked up. Shadow was glaring at Omega, his lip curling back from his teeth in a snarl that made Relic take a few steps back. Even Fixit looked uncomfortable.

“We’re supposed to be a team, Omega! That means you keep me in the loop about intel that’s pertinent to our mission, understand? You don’t just hand it out to anyone who happens to be listening as it suits you!”

Rouge’s large ears flattened, a sickening guilt churning in her stomach, but Omega was nonplussed.

“Refer to your previous statement. Quote: _if either of them are stupid enough to try anything, the three of us will be able to handle it._ End quote.”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Shadow spat, taking a step towards Omega. “That isn’t the point I’m making and you damn well know it!”

Omega’s clawed hands formed a pair of fists, and Rouge’s guilty conscience took a momentary back seat as she stepped between them, her arms forming a bridge as one palm landed on Shadow’s chest, the other bracing against the vertical metal stripe running down the front of Omega’s chassis.

“Hey, hey! Take it easy, you two. No fighting in front of the civilians, now. Come on.”

“We aren’t fighting,” Shadow said curtly, without taking his eyes off of Omega. “But if I find out you’ve been sitting on any more sensitive intel-”

“Recommendation: choose your next words carefully-”

“ _Enough!_ ”

Relic and Fixit jumped; Shadow’s eyes widened, and Omega’s servos whirred audibly. In truth, the sharpness and suddenness of the exclamation had surprised even Rouge, but she pressed on, her head snapping back and forth as she addressed both of them in turn.

“I’m pretty sure at least one of you doesn’t even _produce_ testosterone, so I’m not really sure what your excuse is for acting like a couple of overgrown children, but whatever you think this is, whatever both of you think is happening here, it stops _right now!_ We still have a mission to complete, so if you two are _quite_ done beating your chests, can we please shelve the macho posturing and focus on the task at hand?”

Shadow and Omega looked sheepishly away from one another, but when the hedgehog’s back was turned Omega tilted his chassis slightly at Rouge- a full-body nod, and the closest thing he could manage to one without a neck separating his head from his body. Rouge gave his burly forearm a quick touch, her gloved hand brushing soundlessly against the metal, and mouthed the word _Thanks_. Omega’s head rotated quickly from left to right; _don’t worry about it_.

“Relic,” Shadow said, enunciating the word as though he were testing how it felt in his mouth. The archaeologist looked up. “How well do you know this island?”

Relic palmed the back of her neck. “Oh, well...not to toot my own horn, but I should think I know it rather well by this point. I mean, reasonably well. Not quite as well as Knuckles, naturally, but-”

“Don’t be modest,” Shadow instructed her. “If we’re going to find Knuckles and the Master Emerald I need a no-nonsense assessment from you.”

“Well...I have detailed ordnance survey maps of several of the less dangerous Zones, and Knuckles has been very helpful in mapping out the regions that are too hazardous for most people to set foot in. Plenty of the traps in Marble Garden and Sandopolis are still active, and he swears blind that Pumpkin Hill is _haunted_ , although frankly I’m not sure I believe-”

“When did you last speak to him?” Shadow interrupted.

“Erm...a few days ago?” Relic hazarded, as if asking herself the question, then shook her head. “No...no, it can’t have been much longer than forty-eight hours or so. He was at the Chao Shrine in the ruins, helping me map out the aqueducts in the HydroCity Zone. Fascinating stuff, really. The mechanisms are rather primitive, but so efficient-”

“And you don’t know where he could have gone?” Shadow pressed, before he could start on another tangent. “He didn’t say anything to you?”

“Well...no, but I do know that he wouldn’t have left the Master Emerald unattended,” she affirmed. “He watches the thing like it’s his firstborn- he won’t even let me touch it. Quite honestly, he doesn’t even like me _looking_ at it for too long.”

“But the Master Emerald was at the Altar when you last saw it?”

Relic nodded firmly. “Oh yes, most definitely. And so was Knuckles. I told him that Fixit and I would be back in not more than a few days, and when we arrived back here he was just...well, gone. And the Master Emerald too.”

“You didn’t see anyone else?”

“Not a soul. I’m quite sure that he would have mentioned if there was anyone here besides us and all the little animals. He doesn’t make a habit of hosting guests.”

“Made an exception for you though, didn’t he?” Rouge observed. She expected the remark to elicit another blush from Relic, but the archaeologist simply shook her head.

“Only once he was confident that I wasn’t a threat. He’s been a very gracious host, but…he’s a solitary creature by nature. I think he’s used to being alone,” she added, with a gentle smile that didn’t really match the sadness in her voice.

“That sounds like Knuckles, alright,” Rouge murmured, and for a moment she felt a strange sense of kinship with Relic.

“There was no indication that a struggle took place at the location where the Master Emerald is usually housed,” Omega observed.

“Knuckles could have been caught off-guard,” Shadow pointed out. “Someone might have gotten the drop on him.”

Relic shook her head. “I find that highly unlikely. He sleeps by day, and he never for more than a couple of hours at a time.”

“And if you were planning an ambush, you’d do it by night, wouldn’t you?”

“Precisely,” Relic said, either missing the irony in Rouge’s question or just electing to ignore it. “And you know, echidnas have natural night vision and an excellent sense of smell. I find it difficult  to believe that anyone could sneak up on Knuckles when the Master Emerald is at an elevated position with very little cover on all sides.”

“My, aren’t you a strategist.”

Relic looked bashful, apparently interpreting Rouge’s words as a compliment. “Well, you know...I’ve read a great many books on historical warfare while studying Knuckles’ people, so I’ve picked up a few things here and there.”

“Could Knuckles have moved the Master Emerald from the Altar?” Shadow asked, addressing the question to Relic. “If not here, maybe he was attacked while transporting it somewhere else.”

The young woman’s brow furrowed as she considered this, and she thumbed contemplatively at her chin.

“It’s certainly possible, but…” The archaeologist’s voice trailed off, then piped excitedly back up again as her eyes widened in apparent realization. “I say, wait just a moment!”

“What? What is it?”

“Omega, didn’t you say earlier that one of those energy spikes originated from underground?”

“Affirmative.”

Relic clapped a hand to her head. “Of course! How stupid of me! How could I not have thought of it sooner?”

“Thought of _what_ sooner?” Shadow urged, irritated at being kept in suspense. Rouge was reminded more than a little of another hedgehog, and resisted the temptation to smile.

“Why, the Hidden Palace Zone of course!” Relic exclaimed, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, sounding simultaneously proud of herself for having worked it out and annoyed that she hadn’t worked it out sooner. “Knuckles must have moved the Master Emerald there for safekeeping!”

“Yeah,” Rouge murmured, just loud enough for Relic to hear. “Because that’s worked out so well for him in the past.”

Relic’s sudden onset of enthusiasm dimmed. “Well, if he did move the Master Emerald the he must have had a good reason for doing so. And if it’s been shattered, then someone must have…”

She didn’t need to finish the thought. Judging by the grim looks on the faces of everyone present, they were all thinking along the same lines.

“Fixit?” Relic said, and the little robot visibly stood (or hovered) to attention in anticipation of an incoming request. “Would you kindly wait here for me? I’ll be back in a jiffy. I just...need to make sure that Knuckles is alright.”

Fixit gave a floaty little bow. “Very good, ma'am. I’ll be here.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Rouge grimaced. “Not so fast, honey. I’m coming with you.”

Relic spun to face Rouge. “You most certainly are not!”

“I most certainly am are,” Rouge replied, without missing a beat. “No offense, but I don’t exactly trust you enough to let you go running around on your own.”

Relic scoffed. “Unbelievable! Look who’s calling who untrustworthy!”

“All I meant is that I’m just concerned about your safety.”

“Well, your concern is appreciated but entirely unnecessary. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much.”

“Knuckles could already be hurt or worse for all we know,” Shadow reminded her. “If there’s a threat, the professionals will handle it. The last thing we need is one more person who needs rescuing.”

“And by professional, you mean the professional jewel thief?”

“Treasure hunter,” Rouge corrected her automatically. “And I’m here as an agent of the United Federation right now. The mission is priority one; anything else is secondary, and right now the mission is finding Knuckles. l could care less about that ugly old rock he loves so much, anyway.”

Relic’s brown eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’ll just bet you could.”

“Oh, would you relax?” Rouge sighed, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “This is strictly professional courtesy. I mean, he might be an uncultured meathead but I still don’t like the idea that he might be hurt. That’s all there is to it. I’m not interested in being your competition.”

Relic’s cheeks flushed pink. “Well, I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean by that.”

Rouge grinned at her, exposing a pair of sharp little fangs at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, I’ll just bet you don’t.”

The pink in Relic’s cheeks deepened to crimson. “Now, listen here- he is _not_ my- we’re not- he and I are just-”

Rouge didn’t even attempt to conceal her amusement. “That’s it, honey. Go on. Use your words. You’ll make a complete sentence one day, I know it.”

“I beg your pardon, Madam Rouge, but upon conducting a linguistic analysis of your last statement I have concluded that it may have been grammatically incorrect. To say that you _could_ care less logically implies that you have at least some degree of care for the state of the Master Emerald. I believe you meant to say that you _couldn’t_ care less, which would indicate that you have no regard for the Master Emerald, per your initial…”

Gradually, Fixit’s voice began to trail off as he realized everyone was staring at him.

Rouge gave a little shake of her head. “Shadow, Omega, switch comms to the secure frequency and hold this position. If I’m not back inside of half an hour, I fully expect you to come rescue me from whatever trap she’s walked me into.”

“Fine.”

“Affirmative. Entering sentry mode. Combat readiness decreased from eighty percent to seventy-five percent.”

“...Why were you previously at eighty percent?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“It should only take ten or fifteen minutes to reach the Hidden Palace Zone from here,” Relic said. “Fixit, keep communications open. I’ll notify you if and when we find Knuckles.”

Fixit, who had edged slightly away from Omega, doffed the cap-like fin on his forehead and did another wobbly little half-bow. “Certainly, ma’am. I'll just...be here.”

The little robot watched Relic's retreating back as she set off into the distance at a brisk march. Rouge turned to follow her, but drew up short.

“Oh, and Omega? One more thing- you’re not to maim, mutilate, or otherwise harm the robot unless it’s openly hostile or threatening towards you or Shadow. Understand?”

“How about if it tries to correct our grammar again?” Shadow asked, and Rouge was certain she detected just the merest suggestion of a smile as he spoke.

“Be good, boys. I’ll be back soon.”


	10. Never Turn Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce and Carlos regroup with some of the world's last remaining Freedom Fighters, and reveals his plan to turn the tide of the battle- and the war.

Royce followed Carlos at the closest thing he could manage to a run, aching and exhausted but spurred on by the thought that the Badnik couldn’t be that far behind them. 

Even though he knew that it was next to useless, the pistol’s weight was reassuring. Carlos had his rifle slung over one shoulder, but Royce kept his weapon in a two-handed grip, the muzzle pointed at the ground and the safety engaged. 

If nothing else, it made him feel a little better.

“All call signs, check your fire! Two friendlies coming in from the southern approach!”

“That means don’t shoot ‘em, Pane.”

“Shoot you if you don’t shut up, wise guy.”

Pane was Snake Squad’s squad leader, a Mobian boar with a coat of jet-black fur and an imposing physique. Ochre irises sat in sclera as dark as her fur, glowering over the top of her prominent tusks, and her fists and feet were encased in armored gloves and boots that stretched to her elbows and knees respectively. A red bandana was tied around her head, and a metal dog tag bearing her name, blood type, and a serial number that no longer held any significance hung from her left ear. 

The boar slapped her palm against Carlos’ own, pumping his arm and giving Royce a nod of acknowledgement as they drew to a halt. A machine gun that was almost as large as she was hung from her free hand, her gloved fingers wrapped around the top-mounted carry handle, hefting it as though it were nothing more substantial than a plastic lunchbox. 

“Man, it’s good to see you guys,” she grunted. 

Unlike the armies of nations that no longer existed, a war against an enemy that targeted living beings indiscriminately meant that the Resistance couldn’t exactly afford to be choosy about recruits. Anyone who was willing and able to fight was welcomed to the cause, and Snake Squad were living, breathing proof of that. Their communications specialist was a male cat with tangerine fur, a thick wire coiling from his chunky headset to the bulky radio sitting in a pouch on his belt. Their medic was a female rabbit with sand-colored fur, a wide-brimmed cowboy hat shadowing her face. The shredded remains of a leather vest that had looked as though it might have once been a jacket hung from her shoulders. 

Their demolitions expert was the bird who’d teased Pane about friendly fire, wearing an eyepatch over his right eye and a pair of mismatched glove; the one on his left hand was fingerless, while the one on his right arm covered his arm from the tips of his fingers to the joint of his elbow. Across from him stood Snake Squad’s scout, a male coyote with raised pink welts of scar tissue criss-crossing his chest, his arms bandaged from his fingers to his elbows. Judging by the scabbard on his belt, Royce guessed that the skin of his palms must have been rubbed raw from swordplay. Even with gloves, the skin between his forefinger and thumb had hardened into a callus the size of an orange after hours training on the practice range. 

“Is it just you two?” the cat asked. “We’ve been trying to get Fox Squad on the comms but the caverns are sucking up all the RF.”

Carlos shook his head. “Fox Squad are KIA.”

There was a horrified silence from the assembled as they took a moment to process this. Some of them looked vengeful, others looked close to tears, but as he studied their faces Royce realized that not one of them looked even the slightest bit surprised. 

Behind Pane, a massive figure shifted. It seemed somewhat of a paradox that Royce hadn’t noticed him before, but given his size he could almost have been mistaken for part of the geography, more akin to something like a mountain than a living being. His fur was the pale yellow of spoiled milk, still visible on his forearms even though his limbs had been almost entirely replaced by mechanical prosthetics. His torso was an ovoid metal chassis, his limbs attached to it by ball joints; a strip of red fabric was fastened around his head as a makeshift headband, a mane of fur fashioned into a messy ponytail that didn’t quite reach his broad shoulders.

“What happened?”

The question was little more than a murmur, surprising Royce. He wouldn’t have expected such a massive individual to be so soft-spoken. 

“They were attacked by some kind of Super Badnik,” Carlos answered for him. “Heavily armed, resistant to small arms fire. Royce was the only one who got away.”

“Just one Badnik?” the rabbit piped up.  As Royce turned to her he caught a glint of silver, and noticed for the first time that her right arm and left leg had been replaced with metal prosthetics. “Was it a Horde Commander?” 

“I don’t think so. There weren’t any others with it.”

“We’ve been monitoring Empire radio traffic. There’s been nothing except the usual chatter from the drone units.” 

“I don’t think it needs reinforcements. I watched Mad Mike and Big Griz empty two box magazines into it. They didn’t even scratch its armor.”

The news didn’t appear to go over well with Snake Squad. Glances were exchanged, and another momentary silence took hold before the cat spoke up again. 

“How could it have found us? We should have cover from EggSat surveillance this far underground.” 

“It tracked me here all the way from the Green Hill Zone. We aren't dealing with an ordinary Badnik here.” 

“Green Hill?” Pane repeated, a note of suspicion creeping into her gruff baritone. “Wait a second, how did _you_ get here all the way from South Island? The skies should be lousy with Buzz Bombers and Balkiries right now.”

“It was Shadow. He was the one who got us the Chaos Emerald. He used it to teleport me here.”

The boar’s dark eyes widened. “Shadow the Hedgehog? He’s still alive?”

Royce swallowed hard. “Not any more.”

“Und vat about der Chaos Emerald?”

The speaker’s thick accent was alien to Royce, but no less so than his appearance. His frame was lanky enough that he’d been mostly shielded from view by the polar bear’s mechanical bulk, but as he pushed his way to the center of the throng he had to bend double to bring his eyes level with Royce’s, peering at him over the top of a pair of funny little glasses that sat just above the tip of his nose.

To see a human in this part of the world would have been unusual even before the United Federation had ceased to exist, but upon closer inspection this particular specimen had pale greenish skin, prominent front teeth, pointed ears and a shock of ginger hair that sprouted in wild, untamed curls, linking his beard to his sideburns and framing his angular, bony features.

Royce had never met a human before, so it was difficult to gauge whether any of this was particularly unusual by the standards of their species.

“Der Emerald?” the human repeated, a little louder, apparently interpreting Royce’s stunned silence as him being hard of hearing. “May I see it, _bitte schön_?”

Royce hesitated for a moment. He looked to Carlos, who gave him an almost imperceptible nod, and then back to the human before producing the Chaos Emerald from his belt-kit. Needing no further invitation, the human plucked the Emerald from Royce’s hands and turned it over and over between his own bony fingers, examining it so closely that at one point Royce was convinced he was smelling it.

“So zis ist vat it all comes down to,” he murmured. “Der last vun. Such a small zhing, und yet...”

All eyes were on the Emerald. Only the coyote seemed unimpressed.

“Four of our own died for the sake of that bauble,” the young Mobian pointed out, folding his bandaged arms over his scarred chest while everyone else craned to look at the gemstone. “What makes it so special?”

“Five,” Royce corrected him, almost automatically. “Shadow was the one who got it for us in the first place.”

The statement was controversial enough to draw some sharp looks from the ranks of the assembled, but Royce wasn’t about to let the hedgehog’s sacrifice be forgotten.

“When we was little, my mama always used to tell us that Chaos Emeralds could grant wishes,” the rabbit recalled, an undercurrent of nostalgia coloring the wonderment in her voice. 

“Vell...zat ist somesink of ein oversimplification but in essence, _fraulein_ , your _mutter_ vas correct.” 

“What nonsense,” the coyote snorted, earning him a baleful look from both the rabbit and the human. “I think the _Professeur_ has finally lost what little of his marbles he had left.”

“No,” rumbled the polar bear, speaking for the first time since he’d asked Royce what became of Fox Squad. “He’s right.”

“You can’t be serious,” the coyote scoffed. “A magic jewel that grants wishes? This is the secret weapon that Fox Squad gave their lives for?”

“Der Chaos Emeralds haff long been sought out by zhose seeking to use zem as _wunderwaffen_ , but zeir potential ist limitless. Zey haff der power to manipulate der very fabric of reality; In der wrong hands, zey vould most certainly be veapons of mass destruction, but in der right hands zey can be so much more.”

“ _This_ is a weapon,” the coyote sneered, indicating the Emerald with the point of his sword. ” _That_ is a paperweight.”

“The ancients believed in the power of the Chaos Emeralds. Most of the information we have about them is from the scriptures in this Zone that Professor von Schlemmer has decoded.”

“Oh, so now you mean to say our entire strategy is based on the ramblings of madmen and fairy tales from dead civilizations?”

“Gerald Robotnik-”

Professor von Schlemmer only got as far as the second syllable of _Robotnik_ before the coyote had drawn his sword. By the third syllable, the tip of the blade was quivering beneath the human’s bony chin.

“Don’t you dare say that name here,” the coyote snarled. “Don’t disrespect our fallen comrades that way.”

Professor von Schlemmer met his gaze, placing two fingers on the broad side of the blade and pushing it aside as he spoke. “Professor Gerald vas nussink like his grandson. He vas ein brilliant man, but he vas also ein _good_ man- ein kind man who vas driven mad by grief und did terrible zhings in der name of revenge. I haff studied much of his vork; he did extensiff research into der Chaos Emeralds vhile studying der ancient peoples of zis planet, und like any good scientist he knew not to discount der teachings of der past.” 

“Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it,” Carlos added. 

Professor von Schlemmer smiled- or at least, he bore his teeth and his thin lips turned upwards at the corners, as though the concept of a smile had been described to him and he was attempting to emulate it. 

“ _Natürlich!_ ” he exclaimed, which Royce guessed had to mean _see, this guy gets it_. “Und now zat ve haff all seven und der Master Emerald in our possession...vell, it von’t guarantee us victory, but it vill certainly tip der odds in our favor, _ja?_ ”

Carlos nodded. “My team should have secured the rest by now. We just need to get to the Emerald Chamber.”

The Professor’s smile flickered.  “Erm...about zat. I haff good news und bad news.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

“Der zhing is, you see...der Emerald Chamber ist sealed off.”

“Sealed off?”

“ _Ja._ Der main door came down as soon as der automated defenses activated. It's practically indestructible.”

“Challenge accepted.”

No sooner had the word _indestructible_ left Professor von Schlemmer’s lips than Snake Squad’s demolitions expert flexed his fingers, a shiny black sphere materializing in the bird’s gloved palm in much the same way that the Chaos Emerald had appeared in Shadow’s hand back in the Green Hill Zone. For a moment, Royce couldn’t figure out what he was looking at; then, as the end of a length of rope poking out the top of the sphere erupted into sparks, he realized that it was a bomb.

Professor von Schlemmer blanched. “Nein, nein, you don’t understand- der kind of blast you’d need to destroy zat door could cause a cave-in und bury us all!”

The bird rolled his one good eye, pinching the fuse out with very bad grace and flexing his fingers once more, vanishing the bomb back to wherever he'd conjured it from. Any other day Royce might have been surprised by the display, but by this point he doubted whether anything could surprise him any more. 

“There must be something we can do,” Carlos pressed. “Maybe Blockbuster could-”

“It vould be a vaste of time, _mein herr_. Der door vas specifically designed to vizhstand sieges. Even viz his enhancements, Blockbuster vould bring zer roof down around our heads before he managed to break through.” 

“So what’s the good news?” 

Professor von Schlemmer sighed. “Zat _vas_ der good news. If nussink else, der Master Emerald ist secure. Ve chust can’t get der door open until der power comes back online.”

“And how long is that going to take?”

“About fifteen minutes.”

Carlos shook his head. “No good. That Badnik’s probably less than ten minutes behind us.” He turned his attention to Pane. “Are there any other friendly units in this area?”

“Eagle Squad’s about half a klick south of here,” she grunted. “Right on the border with Lava Reef Zone.”

“Do we have comms with them?” Carlos asked, directing the question to Snake Squad’s radio operator.

The cat held up a finger in the universal _wait one second gesture_ , flipping switches and twisting dials on his radio and cupping his palm against his headset. 

“Eagle Squad, this is Wild Cat. Come in, over.” Then, after a momentary pause; “I got the squad leader on the line. Patching him through now.” 

Carlos raised a hand to his own earpiece. “Eagle Actual, this Carlos. Do you copy?”

_“Carlos, this is Sergeant Doberman, acting commander of Eagle Squad: I read you five by five. What’s the SitRep, over?”_

“Sergeant, be advised: we have a Chaos Emerald. We’ve reconvened with Snake Squad, but Fox Squad are KIA. We have no adjacent support and there’s a Super Badnik right on our tail. Are you able to provide support at this time, over?”

_“That’s affirmative. We’re about half a klick south of you. What do you need from us, over?”_

“Hold position at the western tunnel. I’m sending Professor Von Schlemmer to you with Blockbuster and Cutlass as an escort. We’ll buy you as much time as you can but your priority is keeping him safe, do you understand?”

_“Roger that. What’s the game plan, over?”_

“The Badnik should be approaching from the southern tunnel. Demo will set explosives along phase line alpha; your squad will cover us as we fall back to phase line bravo. Once the power’s back online we’ll RV with my team at the Emerald Chamber. Affirm?”

 _“Understood,”_ came the reply. _“Good luck, and for God’s sakes be careful out there. Doberman out.”_

Royce guessed that Demo had to be the name of Snake Squad’s demolitions expert, for as soon as Carlos mentioned explosives a wicked grin lit up the bird’s features. 

“I like this plan,” he announced. 

“You like any plan that gives you an excuse to blow something up,” the rabbit murmured, flashing him a sidelong glance. Demo met her shy smile with a shrug, and a smile of his own. 

“You got me there.”

Blockbuster- the polar bear with the mechanical limbs and torso- placed a massive paw on Professor von Schlemmer’s shoulder and motioned for Cutlass- the coyote wielding the sword of his namesake- to follow him. “Come on, Professor. This way.”

Royce’s hand shot outwards, as though he’d meant to raise it like a schoolboy wanting to ask a question before thinking better of it. “Wait a second. What about the Emerald?”

Professor von Schlemmer stopped in his tracks. “Vat about it?”

“Back on South Island, Shadow used the Chaos Emerald to teleport me here. Is there any way we can...I don’t know- could we use it now? To warp to the Emerald Chamber?”

Professor von Schlemmer sucked air through his teeth as he considered his response. 

“Chaos Control ist...extremely complex. It involves literally varping time und space around vunself. Somevun like Shadow could probably varp two or perhaps even three people, but it vould take incredible strength of vill for somevun to make even ein short jump to ein location zat zhey could visualize. Mass teleportation to ein area zat far avay, in ein enclosed environment...I’m sorry, _mein freund,_  but _nein_. It’s ein nice idea, but ve simply can’t risk it.” 

A look of consternation had been furrowing Carlos’ features as the Professor spoke. 

“What about the teleporters?” he interjected. “Are they still working?”

Professor von Schlemmer palmed the nape of his neck. “Erm...vell, theoretically zey should be, but zey haffen’t been activated in goodness knows how long.”

“You know the ancients’ technology better than anyone else here. Can you get them to work?

“I...I zhink so, yes. But vizout power-“

“Sparks will take care of that. Just make sure they’re operational by the time the lights come back on.”

Professor von Schlemmer nodded. “I’ll do vat I can, _mein herr_.”

“So will we,” Carlos assured him. If we hit it with everything we’ve got, we might be able to at least delay it long enough for them to get the power back on.” 

“And if we can’t?” 

Carlos shrugged. “If we can’t, we’re dead anyway.” 

“Y’know, you might wanna consider attending a motivational speaking seminar if we survive this,” Demo remarked. 

“I'm not going to lie to you,” Carlos replied evenly, addressing everyone present. “There's a very good chance that some of us won't make it through this, but this fight is bigger than any one of us. In war, survival is the responsibility of the individual, but collectively we’re fighting for the entire planet. Everything we’ve done so far, everything we’ve lost- our friends, our families, our homes- _our_ home. _Our_ planet. it all comes down to this.”

“See, that’s more like it. Did you just come up with that, or have you been rehearsing it?”

A few people smiled, but Carlos didn’t dignify the witticism with a response. 

“Cutlass, Blockbuster, you have your orders. Everyone else, on me.” 

Demo bumped the knuckles of his left hand against one of Blockbuster’s massive paws while Cutlass and Scarlett embraced.

“Y’all take care, now.” 

The rabbit’s voice quavered as she spoke and cracked on the last syllable. Cutlass brushed his fingers against her cheek with a sad smile.

“Demo, whatever happens out there-”

“It’s okay, man. I’ll take care of her. She’s important to me too, remember?”

The two shared a knowing smile, then a short, rough hug with plenty of back-slapping from both parties.

“See you on the other side, brother.”

“Godspeed, my friend.”

Carlos didn’t remark on the delay. As Blockbuster and Cutlass set off, shepherding Professor von Schlemmer between them, he turned to Snake Squad’s leader and jerked his head in the direction of the southern tunnel. 

“Pane, you’re on point.”

Despite her position as squad leader, the boar didn’t seem to object to Carlos assuming command of her team- and, by extension, her.

“You heard the man!” she snapped at the other members of Snake Squad. “Let’s go! Move it out!”

Once she had her back to him, Royce saw that she’d stenciled the outline of a serpent baring its pointed fangs onto the back of her armored vest, outlining the words **_EL RIESGO SIEMPRE VIVE_** ; he didn’t recognize the language any more than he recognized Professor von Schlemmer’s bizarre accent, but something made him file away a mental note to ask Carlos what it meant later.

It felt strange to retrace their steps. Wrong, somehow, and not just because of the knowledge that the Super Badnik was somewhere back the way Royce had come. The sound of several pairs of boots on the stone floor was reassuring to part of him- the part that kept reminding him he wasn’t alone any longer, assuring him that Carlos had a plan, that they’d make it through this- but another part of him kept steering his thoughts back to what had happened to Fox Squad.

“Set explosives here,” Carlos told Demo, indicating the overpass where he’d hauled Royce up earlier. “The Badnik should be coming in from the south; we’ll blow the bridge when it reaches the kill zone.”

Demo squinted with his one remaining eye, his gloved hand thumbing pensively at his chin for a second before pinching his forefinger and thumb together and drawing them apart. As the gap between his fingers widened, a shapeless black mass winked into existence; with his other hand, he rolled it into a spherical shape as though he were a potter working on some abstract clay form. Once it had formed the shape of what was recognizably a bomb he placed it carefully at the edge of the overpass before taking a few steps back, admiring it critically with the air of an artist unsure of whether his own work was fit to display in a gallery.

“Hurry up!” Carlos snapped. “It can’t be far behind us by now!”

Demo, who had been moulding another bomb out of a lump of antimatter in his cupped palms, glared at Carlos. “Look, you’re asking me for a controlled demolition here. You want the job done right or you want it done quick?”

“We’re on the clock here, Demo,” Pane growled. “Can’t you go any faster?”

“Yeah,” Demo muttered, without taking his eyes off the forming bomb. “I could, I could. But y’know, I _could_ also mess this up and blow us all to kingdom come, so how’s about you all just shut up and let me do my job?”

Scarlett's robotic hand landed lightly on Demo’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as she shot Carlos and Pane a reproving look. 

“It’s okay, hon. You can do this.”

Demo held the finished bomb in the palm of his left hand, gently setting it down while the gloved fingers of his right hand interlocked with Scarlett’s metal digits.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “It’s fine. I do some of my best work under pressure, after all.”

Pane racked the charging handle of her weapon. As she raised it, Royce saw that the word **_ADIOS_ ** was stenciled on the side of the upper receiver. It looked similar to the machine guns that Royce had seen Mad Mike and Big Griz carrying, but the magazine was a drum instead of a box, slotted into the top of the weapon instead of positioned to the side, with no ammunition belt visible. In place of an ammo box, there was what looked like a small screen bolted to the side of the receiver, a cluster of blue dots blinking on it. 

Pane noticed Royce’s gaze, and followed his line of sight to her weapon before giving the pistol in his hand a disdainful look. “I ain’t trading with you, rookie, so don’t even ask.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Royce assured her, nodding at the screen. “I was just wondering what that was.”

“Friendly Forces Tracker,” she replied, giving the device an affectionate pat. “Little souvenir from the good old days of G.U.N.” 

“You mean back when G.U.N. actually existed.”

Pane continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “It’s designed specifically to work with my Smart Gun,” she explained, a note of pride creeping into her gruff baritone. “Combination GPS and motion tracker, so it works down here as well as above ground. The blue dots on the screen are us.”

“And what’s the red dot?”

Pane’s brow furrowed. “What red-?”

Her eyes widened in alarm as she turned her attention to the screen. Sure enough, there were six blue dots dotted about the top of the screen- Pane, Royce, Carlos, Demo, Scarlett, and Wild Cat- and a single red dot was lazily drifting towards them from the bottom of the display. 

“Contact inbound!” Pane roared, all heads except Demo’s whipping around to look at her. “I got a signal closing on our position! Range: thirty meters!”

“You’re sure it’s not one of ours?”

“Only Eggman Empire tech shows up as a red dot,” Pane snarled. “The system sometimes gives false negatives, but never false positives. Twenty-five meters!”

The tracker beeped a steady rhythm as the red dot inched further up the screen, ever so slightly out of sync with the distant thudding of metal on stone that confirmed what the gadget was telling them. Royce felt droplets of sweat forming on his forehead, and knuckled them away from his eyes with his free hand.

Suddenly, the weight of Carlos’ pistol didn’t feel very reassuring any more. 

“Demo, what’s happening with those explosives?”

“Almost there...”

“Seventeen meters!”

The measured, rhythmic percussion of the Super Badnik’s tread was growing louder, and Royce could see that he wasn’t the only one who could hear it. Scarlett’s large ears were twitching with each impact. Demo’s jaw was clenched. The ball of matter he was shaping into another bomb flickered as though unwilling to allow itself to be manipulated.

“Fifteen meters!”

“Come on, come on-”

“Twelve meters-”

“Got you!” Demo grunted, apparently addressing the now-complete bomb. “It’s done!” Curls of steam rose from the bomb’s smooth black shell as he set it down, but the fuse was unlit. 

“Stand by.”

“Seven meters,” Pane hissed. “It’s right under us!”

“Stand by...stand by…”

The thudding stopped. For a moment, so did Royce’s heartbeat.

Carlos gave Demo a nod. “Do it!”

“Fire in the hole.”

Demo raised his gloved hand and snapped his fingers. The fuses sparked to life. Royce ducked, clamping his hands over his ears. 

The noise was horrendous. The explosions weren’t entirely synchronous, but with the overlapping roar of the blasts and the deafening crash of the falling rocks, it was impossible to tell. Hundreds of tons of rock rained down in a meteoric avalanche, kicking up clouds of dust that mingled with the thick, black smoke from the bombs and stung Royce’s eyes and throat. The terrain trembled alarmingly, and for a moment he wondered if the ground was going to give out beneath him and dump him back where he'd come from while running from the Super Badnik.

Eventually, the echoes of the blast died down. The crackle of tumbling stones and the high-pitched ringing in Royce’s ears were punctuated by coughs- and even a couple of shaky, breathless laughs- as Snake Squad picked themselves up.

“Everyone alright?”

“I think so, yeah.”

"We're good."

“Demo, give us a BDA.”

“Eh...I’d give that about an eight.”

“Don’t be funny.”

“Well, what do you want me to say? He’s toast. He’s history. Game over, man. Thanks for playing.” 

Carlos didn’t seem convinced by the assessment. “Pane?”

“I got no movement down there.”

“Told you. Ladies and gentlemen, we got him.”

“Good job, Demo.” Pane hocked a mouthful of spit over the broken edge of the overpass. “That one was for you, Apollo. Rest easy, amigo.”

“Mad Mike and Big Griz too.”

“Yeah, and Dagger.”

“And Shadow,” Royce murmured. Nobody seemed to disagree with that sentiment, verbally or otherwise.

“That was for everyone we’ve lost so far,” Carlos concluded. “But we can celebrate later. We’ve still got a war to win.”

Nobody disagreed with that either.

 


End file.
